


Starcraft: Haint

by AlienAtSystem



Category: StarCraft
Genre: Gen, NaNoWriMo, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlienAtSystem/pseuds/AlienAtSystem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyra was a Dominion Ghost, Wolf a Spectre of Raynor's Raiders, until their minds were connected as an experiment of a bored Protoss. They know each other's thoughts all the time, see what the other sees and remember each other's memories. Also freed from Dominion mind control, Lyra is able to rediscover herself and tries to find her place in society, while Wolf, who believed to have figured out his life begins to doubt himself more and more.<br/>They leave their former masters and become mercenaries for the Moebius foundation. As they spy and murder for the corporation, they discover hints that someone is pulling strings from the shadows, manipulating Dominion citizens for an unknown purpose. Not sure to trust their allies and in the dark about the moves of their enemy, Wolf and Lyra have to move quickly before it is too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Griper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starcraft:Haint will be published in pdf format, which will be available through a link at the top of every chapter text. This is due to me writing the text in LATEX, which allows me to have a nice level of control over the text, plus a 1-click-to-publish setup. I'm also using HEVEA to compile the .tex to .html ,so you can also read the text here in the archive, but please note that updating this is extra effort for me and not highest priority, so it might not be completely up to date compared to the pdf.
> 
> The pdf file can be found by following this link: [HaintPub.pdf](https://www.dropbox.com/s/dwjo5opi1z1u9og/HaintPub.pdf) The version deposited there will always be the complete novel as it has been published that far. That makes it easier for download for you and easier to annotate for me, since the page numbers won't change as the book grows. Please don't be scared of the bit of legalese in the preface, it's just the standard stuff every fanficition has implicitly, I just wrote it down in case the document wanders around on the net without a link back here.
> 
> I'll try to update at least once weekly (Mondays), with a higher rate during November, since I'm part of the writing frenzy known as [NaNoWriMo](http://nanowrimo.org). (Remind me to remove this part when it's December)
> 
> Please feel free to comment, rant, applaud and critize everything. I can't judge how good my writing is by myself, all feedback you can give is appreciated.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The story is set during the events of Wings of Liberty. The first chapter is happening at roughly the same time as the Mar Sara missions, right at the beginning of the second Zerg incursion. However, we'll jump forward several weeks in the next chapter, and the story happens at the height of Raynor's rebellion. While I'll of course will have to make some assumptions about the order and timeframe of the campaign missions, I'll avoid mentioning it. For the most part, the missions happen far off anyway, although of course things like Media Blitz are going to be mentioned.
> 
> For those who want all the details, at the start of the story the completed missions are "Outbreak", "Smash and Grab" and "Welcome to the Jungle". Should it ever come up, Raynor makes A Canon decisions (Safe Haven, Breakout, Belly of the Beast).
> 
> * * *

The hot air shimmered above the asphalt of the starport. There was the occasional breeze, but it did nothing to cool Griper, just threw additional dust into his drink. A red sun stood high in the sky and heated the air.

The place was a dump. Next to the grey, mostly sand-covered expanse of the liftoff field, there were only two small, squat buildings and a derelict hangar. Nobody lived in the desert, all colonies were in higher latitudes, where the weather was temperate and the soil fertile. The starport had been built close to the equator, away from everything else. Only the largest vessels, in need of the rotational energy for reaching orbit, had any reason to start here, while smaller vessels could launch from the cities directly.

Another gust of wind sprinkled dust into Griper’s glass. He had given up on trying to drink it, since it tasted horrible even without the dust. The bartender, one of the few inhabitants of this desolate place, had apparently as much a sense of taste as a dead cow. While Griper’s suit told him to have a steady input of water to counteract the sweating, he had decided that he rather dehydrated than drink that.

He dragged his finger along his collar, wiping off the sticky sweat. Ghost suits were designed to be comfortable even over long periods of wearing, which meant that they transported sweat to the surface to allow for natural cooling. What they did not do however, was cooling down on their own. Between the isolation against hard vacuum, the cloaking tech and the dozens of other functions important for combat, there was no space left for air conditioning. And Griper had a unique paint job on his - black, with red accents. It had not been a wise decision in hindsight.

The other person sitting at his table didn’t seem to be bothered by the sweltering heat. It was however debatable of the word ‘person’ was applicable to her. While her body certainly left no doubt that she was human, and female, her mind was not fulfilling the conditions. There was no personality there, just a fragment of one, enough to obey orders, not enough to cause any trouble. Griper had ordered that himself.

When Lyra Saiph had been recruited to the Academy, she had been one of the strongest psionics in existence, nearly strong enough to warrant redefining the power scale to adjust for the new maximum. Despite her young age, she showed remarkable talent. Unfortunately, she also had a stubborn and unbending personality and absolutely refused to become a Ghost. And somehow, through sheer willpower, Lyra resisted the neural resocialization. After several failed attempts, the engineers tried another approach, implanting lots of tech into her brain to shut down every part that wasn’t needed. The technology has highly experimental, and there had been a good chance it would either fail like everything else, or turn her into a useless vegetable.

It had turned out nearly exactly right. Lyra Saiph, now only known as Ghost 51413 to everyone who hadn’t been present back then, was unable to resist an order by a Dominion agent. Her psionic powers had been severely dampened by the implants, and she was slightly too unmoving to be used as a full agent, but she had her uses. Griper had been the one responsible for her training and he still remembered those days with dread. Getting Lyra to understand which orders were meant literally and which were not, and teaching her a modicum of common sense had been a pain.

In the end, Griper had given up trying to get her to understand strategy and tactics, and handed her over to Williams, the engineer who had designed the implants in the first place. The man confirmed Gripers evaluation of not sending her off on her own and always having someone supervising. And with that, Griper had lost contact to her for quite some time, at least physically. In his administrative duties, he had sometimes read reports about her, which had invariably been positive. She held up better in life fire situations than initially projected.

In hindsight, he should have assigned her to himself sometime. She had grown from an already beautiful teenager to a gorgeous woman who didn’t even need to reveal any skin to make every male in her presence stiff with desire. Being extremely attractive seemed to be something built into her very bones. She did not use any makeup, as far as Griper knew, but her lips had an intense color nonetheless, a dark brown contrasting her olive tan. Her movements were graceful and her voice sensual. She was perfect, except for her brain.

She lifted her glass, drank a sip, and set it down again, at the exact same spot it had been standing before. She was doing that once every minute, like a clockwork. Although her white suit reflected more of the heat, droplets glistened on her forehead and her long black hair was heavy with sweat.

There was movement on the horizon. Griper took his rifle and sighted through the scope. He saw a flock of birds, heading into his direction. He was about to sigh and put the weapon down again when he spotted the small spot catching up to the birds. It flew right through their formation, sending the things scattering across the sky. The object had many similarities, both in form and grace, to a brick. Terran Quantradyne dropships were notorious for their horrible design, and generally were called such cheerful nicknames as ‘Flying Coffin’.

This particular one seemed to be an older model, Griper noticed as it came closer. There was a faint smoke trail the ship left behind as it hovered over the landscape, nearly invisible to the naked eye, but standing out in the infrared overlay, even in the heat.

Lowering his rifle, Griper went back to the table and told Lyra to finish her drink. She did so in a rather unladylike way, pouring the entire rest of the glass down her throat in one gulp. Then she stood up, swinging her long and beautifully curved legs, until she stood at the edge of the asphalt field. Then she switched off again, her gaze unfocused, her body not moving except for breathing, awaiting the next order.

The dropship was close enough now that Griper could make out details without the scope. The paint seemed glossy, so it probably was new. That meant the ship had been cared for, recently. But a lot more recently, someone had gone to some lengths to do the opposite. There were scorch marks on the hull, and some dents. The smoke trailed out of a hole near one of the engines.

Landing with unexpected precision on the asphalt field, the ship came to a halt a few meters in front of Griper. As the ship veered around to present the aft door, he had the chance to read the name painted on the side of the hull. Fake Bustard. It was not a particularly inspiring choice. The pilot seemed very experienced, though, given the control he had over the ship despite the damage.

The aft door opened without the turbines switching off. It was difficult to make out details in the brownout the craft was blowing out, but the man stepping out seemed to be wearing a uniform. His thoughts were panicked and unclear. He hasted towards the two Ghosts waiting next to the airfield and saluted. “Corporal Tanner, at your service. Are you our reinforcements?” He was disappointed about the amount of people sent to help, but didn’t voice it.

Griper saluted back and started walking towards the ship immediately, not bothering to stand still for the introduction. The mind of the corporal spoke rather loudly of urgency. As he hopped onto the loading ramp, Griper answered: “Major Griper and Specialist 51413. We’re all your’re getting. This was supposed to be recon, not a combat drop.”

The mission looked like it was going haywire before it even started. When they had lifted off from the Academy, the job description had been recon. Disraeli base, one of the two secret research facilities of Scorbine Beta, had gone silent, and the generals believed that sending two Ghosts and a Battlecruiser for contingency was enough to find out what happened there, and deal with it if necessary. When they had arrived in the system, the other research base, Bismarck, had asked for them to be dropped at the civilian airport and await pickup. That was not standard procedure, but a sensible choice for a civilian world where conspiracy theorists might deduce the location of the secret bases by observing the skies.

“All right, who scuffed this ship?”, Griper asked, skipping politeness and getting down to business. Tanner opened his mouth to answer, but Lyra was faster: “The abrasions and acid corrosion are consistent with a combined surface/air Zerg attack.” There was a short moment of confusion as Tanner noticed Lyra properly for the first time. Despite her eye-catching looks, she had a habit of blending into the background, unnoticed until she did something.

Now that Tanner had taken note of Lyra, he did not miss out the chance to ogle. Before his thoughts turned into a appreciation of curves, they confirmed Lyra’s analysis, so Griper didn’t bother to wait until the man managed to take his gaze off the woman’s body and simply walked towards the cockpit, rapped against the door and shouted: “We’re all there. Lift off.”

“Yoo got it, guv”, the pilot answered over the intercom. He had a heavy fringe accent and seemed to be rather young. The roar of the turbines went from painfully loud to deafening as he kicked the engines to a higher gear and accelerated the craft.

Griper took Tanner’s arm and pulled him away from Lyra. “Why don’t you call ahead to Bismarck base that we’re incoming, Corporal?”, he asked. The man jerked out of his daydreams and nodded embarrassed. While he climbed into the cockpit, Griper ordered Lyra to sit down and took a seat on the opposite wall where he had a good view on all her features. He had already had the chance to appreciate her curves during the flight here and the orbital drop, but he wasn’t tired of looking at her yet, and doubted that he’d ever be.

Tanner peeked back into the cargo compartment and announced concernedly: “I can’t reach Bismarck base. It must be worse than I thought. It was just a small hunting party attacking when we left, no problem to handle for our security. But if they destroyed the main antenna, there must be…”

“The word you’re looking for is vanguard. Zerg don’t bother with half measures.”, Griper interrupted, “That means we’ll go close enough for personal radio range to find out if there are any survivors, extract a bit if feasible and then leg it before the bugs notice we’re here.”

The Corporal looked disappointed. In his thoughts he was planning daring rescue missions and a retaking of the whole facility. Griper decided to shut down such fantasies quickly. The Ghosts were elite fighters, but not that good. “We’re just two people, without any armor and long-range rifles, plus an already damaged dropship and, if your shirt is any judge, a security offer who never fired anything larger than a handgun. We’re only equipped for recon, so we’ll only do recon. End of story.”

After Tanner had returned to the cockpit, Griper took the time to compose a small record to send to the Battlecruiser in orbit around the planet, explaining the situation and giving the recommendation to nuke both sites from orbit as soon as their mission was over, with possibly scorching the area around the locations to cauterize any Zerg infestation of the planet. When he was done, he gave the suit computer the order to hack into the ship’s radio and send the encrypted record into orbit.

When that was done, Gripper settled back down and let his eyes rest on Lyra’s perfect body. He took the time to appreciate her long legs and her breasts, which were large enough to make every male want to touch them, but not so big as to get in the way of her mobility, and her perfect face with the almond-shaped eyes and full lips. More than an hour passed without anything happening. The pilot adjusted course sometime, and the strained engine sputtered every quarter of an hour, but except for that, Griper was not interrupted in his appreciation of beauty.

When Tanner next poked his head into the cargo compartment, he seemed even more worried than before. “I think we’ve got something, Major.” He waved Griper into the cockpit, who followed without comment. Inside, the sound of the engines was muffled to a low hum. Griper mumbled a curse under his breath. The bastard of a pilot had installed a sound-dampening system, but only for the pilot compartment. After a quick glance over everything, Griper turned his attention to Tanner, who had strapped himself back into the co-pilot seat.

The corporal was bent over the radio, which screamed a lot of static over the speakers. After a few seconds of listening, Griper could make out slivers of words in the noise. It was not enough to discern any information, but it was a life sign. “Continue trying to reach them”, Griper encouraged Tanner and looked out of the front window while the little man babbled into the microphone.

There wasn’t much to see, just a desert of dirt and rocks under a dark blue sky. There were dots circling near the horizon. They looked like vultures gathering around a dying animal, but their shape and wing movement wasn’t of any bird known to man. And the lazily moving blobs between them weren’t balloons, either. Griper had long ago learned to identify Mutalisks and Overlords by silhouette only.

Something struck him as off. After a moment, he realized what it was. “No xenomorph signature warning?”, he asked the pilot. The man shook his head. “Got scoofed, guv. Been beepin’ the whole time. Half tha sensor sweet is down.” “You mean you’re about to fly visual only into Zerg airspace? You’re insane!” The pilot growled: “Yoo don’t go not tellin’ me how ta fly, me don’t go not tellin’ yoo how ta kill.”

Before Griper could respond with an insult, Tanner cut in: “Sir, I’ve got something.” He turned back to the microphone and spoke quickly into it: “Yes, it’s me, Tanner. We’re back, and there’s two Ghosts with us.” The Major grabbed the mic and introduced himself: “Major Griper, Dominion Ghost corps, accompanied by Specialist 51413, same corps. Give us a status report.” The man at the other side of the radio was silent for a moment before answering.

“You’re late, Major. We could have used you an hour ago when —” Griper clenched his teeth. “What is the situation?”, he asked again, slowly and menacingly. The answer was shouted back angrily: “There’s Zerg, that’s the situation, stickarse! We’re evacuating. The only thing I can use you glorified killers for is helping to guard the Hercules until everything’s on board.” There was the sound of something hitting the mic, then static.

Tanner coughed an embarrassed little cough. The pilot, unfazed by the argument, announced cheerfully: “Thar we are, guvs.” Griper looked out of the window, but couldn’t see at first what the man was talking about. The view was as empty as ever, with the only things remotely of interest being a wadi near the horizon and a small building in front of it. It appeared to be built out of corrugated iron sheets. “Where’s the base?”, Griper asked, confused. The pilot chuckled. “It’s a-secret.” Tanner elaborated: “The entire facility is subterranean. There is a ship hangar opening into the —”

“Sir, there are Zerg incoming at five o’ clock in sweep attack formation, ETA minus thirty seconds.”, Lyra told him over the suit radio. Griper relayed a shortened version: “Mutas on our arse. That’s what you get for flying fucking visual!” The pilot began to press buttons and pull levers and announced: “Be holdin’ on, we’re gonna roll.” Without any pause, he pulled the ship upwards, sending Griper tumbling towards the cockpit door. The roar of the engines was deafening, even here in the cockpit.

When the burst of acceleration seemed to be over, Griper opened the door and slipped through it. The ship dived sideways, sending Griper tumbling again. He began to curse the pilot, interrupted by the jerks and sweeps of the ship as the pilot tried to shake the Mutalisks off. “You —” Griper hit the ceiling in an unexpected dive. “— bastard —” Gravity took over again. “— son of a —” He was thrown against one of the walls. “— rabid —” He slid down the wall, on the row of seats and onto the floor. “— badger!”

In a moment of calmness, he noticed Lyra. She seemed more lively now, steadying herself against the rapid shifts in gravity. He eyes darted around in her sockets, as if she was following the movements of the Mutalisks outside. Suddenly, she jerked sideways, fractions of a second before the wall exploded inwards where her head had been. A gob of acid flew into the compartment, hit the opposite wall and began to eat through that, hissing slightly.

Before Griper had time to come to his senses, the pilot began a barrel roll. While Griper fell the full circle along the walls and ceiling of the cargo compartment, he overhead Tanners frantic shouting: “We’re not going to make it, dammit. Set us down. Set us down!” The pilot didn’t answer, busy trying to dodge the screeching Mutalisks swarming around the ship. A lot of warning signals seemed to be beeping at once. More acid was splashing against the ship, filling the air with their sharp smell.

Griper landed back first on the floor again. As he looked through the cockpit door outside, he spotted the Mutalisk heading straight towards the front window.

“Look out!” The pilot jerked the ship sideways. There was the sound of a wing hitting the windshield, then a moment of silence, and then a noise that seemed uncomfortably similar to that of a blender in action. That was followed by the sound of screeching metal and the roar of the engine getting even louder. The pilot screamed. “Ingestion, right engine!” Tanner shouted back, panicked: “Set us down! Set us down!” The ship began fly a wide curve and tilted alarmingly. The pilot, muttering to himself, tried his best to keep it level and pointed in the right direction.

He muttered while fervently pushing controls to stabilize the ship. “Keep together baby, keep together. We’re close to —” There was no scream as the acid pierced the front window and melted his chest. The man simply sagged into himself, letting go of the levers. The ship dropped, and hit the ground. The sound of metal crunching gravel was added to the general cacophony of tortured steel. There was a the sound of lots of supports breaking, and for a moment a burning engine was visible through the front window, tumbling over the dusty ground and disappearing over the edge of the wadi.

Griper decided not to hang around. Grabbing his backpack and rifle, he pulled the emergency release of the rear hatch and shouted at Lyra: “Follow me!” before jumping out. He rolled to lessen the impact, and switched on his cloaking immediately. A Mutalisk swooped over him, towards the sliding aircraft. He could still read Tanner’s thoughts, who was apparently still in the cockpit, having trouble to get out of his safety belt. Given the incoming Zerg, it was too dangerous to attempt to rescue the Corporal.

Standing up, Griper tried to orient himself, but it was difficult. The landing dropship has thrown up a lot of dust, and the visibility was under a few meters. He could make out Lyra waiting a short distance away, but apart from that he seemed to be standing in dry, brown fog. He tried to remember his last view out of the cockpit and the relative position of the cottage that was presumably a secret entrance to the facility. He began to jog towards what he guessed to be the most likely location.

There was the sound of angry activity coming from the direction of the dropship. There was the beginning of a scream, cut of by the loud bang of an explosion. The shock wave made Griper stumble for a moment, and he picked up the pace. With the ship gone, the Mutalisks would probably choose them as their next target. He was not planning to stay around for that.

For a second, he thought he could have made out a corner through the dust cloud. Getting desperate, he sprinted towards it. Slowly, like a ghost, the small shed became visible through the dust. But at the same time, the noise of flapping wings became louder. Panicking, Griper rounded the corner and to his relief found the door leading inside. He jerked at it, and lost grip of the unmoving handle. Locked.

Cursing, he stepped backwards a meter, and threw himself against the door. It came free easily, and he tumbled after it from the leftover momentum. He fell down what felt like a set of stairs and came to halt against the opposite wall.

Griper groaned. Despite the suit absorbing shocks, he had felt every single stair on the way down. The collision with the wall had been less hard than expected, though. After a moment, he realized it had been because he’d fallen onto something soft.


	2. Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added the second chapter, so it's a bit more material. I'll most likely keep publishing Mondays.
> 
> The second chapter is the introduction of Wolf, our sort-of main character. I try to keep him from hogging all the limelight and give Lyra a chance to develop, but he's the one I can imagine better. This chapter exists in two revisions, which are considerably different. In the first version, Wolf actually went and painted the target with the laser, risking his own life recklessly. Since then, his character developed pretty much to the extreme opposite, and his approach therefore changed considerably. Well, read and see.
> 
> Tell me if Wolf's style is straining to read. I try to give both main characters very different narrative styles, for reasons that I hope become obvious later, but it's no use if I sacrifice readability for the artistic vision.
> 
> * * *

**As mentioned on the first page, get the book[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/dwjo5opi1z1u9og/HaintPub.pdf). It includes all chapters, not just this one.**

On another planet, at a different time, a dropship was hovering over the landscape. It was not a flying brick like the unfortunate Fake Bustard, but one of the post-Brood War special ops dropships. Fast, silent, sturdy. This one carried a single passenger. He preferred to be called Wolf.

He checked his armaments thoroughly. Main weapon, an AGR-14, filled with anti-personnel slugs. He also had two extra clips, one with extra long sniping rounds, and one with anti-armor tungsten cartridges. He did not intend to use either, but it paid to be prepared.

Next, grenades. None of them had much explosive power. Loud explosions weren’t very useful when infiltrating, but these grenades were. One traditional Lockdown round, able to shut down electric appliances for a long time, with surgical precision. Two smoke grenades, homemade with a carefully chosen mixture. It absorbed visual, infrared, ultraviolet, even radio, thanks to metal nanoparticles. And the last, an old UED flare. It was for illumination mostly, but could turn civilians harmless if used correctly.

The last item on his belt was a revolver. It had belonged to his father, and he didn’t want to let go. It was not a weapon fit for infiltration. The noise and recoil were astronomical, the bullets were expensive. It could, however reduce a man’s head to fine mist at fifty paces even when hindered by armor. It was a good weapon for sticky situations.

He leaned back and tried his microphone. It was high-tech, thought activated, sound-suppressing and connected to encrypted radio. He uttered a sentence. No noise seemed to actually leave his lips. After a second, a nervous voice answered over the tiny earpiece: “Cucumber salad? Why would it —” A deeper voice interrupted him. It was too far from the mic to make out words. The nervous man continued: “Right. Ehm. I read you.”

“How’s the connection, Stetman?”, Wolf asked. The scientist on the other end of the line uhmed and ahed for a moment before answering: “Clear and precise. You’re mumbling a bit.” Wolf rolled his eyes. He switched off the suppression with a thought. “You try talking without hearing yourself.”, he countered.

A pang of pain reminded him. “Can any of that tech you put in my head cause migraine?”, he asked. The scientist had designed something newfangled. A revolution in neural science, he had called it. Wolf hadn’t seen any advantages yet. The answer came quick and panicked: “The surveillance implant inside your longitudinal fissure should not – I mean, it does measure signal transduction in the occipital lobe, but the procedure is entirely passive and electrically contained. There should be no adverse reaction to any of…” Stetman became talkative and polysyllabic when in a corner. It was a scientist thing. Wolf let him blather.

The headache therefore came from the other modification to his head. He’d been turned into a Spectre. It was a dangerous process, invented by the Dominion at some point after the Brood War. It involved Jorium, Terrazine, resoc tubes and Voodoo. Wolf did not pretend to understand. What it did was boost the psionic powers of the subject. Terran Ghosts were good, but no match for Protoss psionics. But a Spectre could possibly reach that level.

Mengsk had shut down project Shadowblade, deeming it too dangerous. All evidence was destroyed, all test subjects killed or incarcerated. But one person escaped. His name was Gabriel Tosh, and he had found his way to the Raiders. He’d shared his knowledge of the project, after a while. It was a good offer, but Raynor wanted to know the catch. He found a low-level psionic. He made him undergo the Spectre conversion process. That person was Wolf. And now he was tested.

Before, Wold had been marksman for a marine squad. His psionic index was higher than average, but not extraordinary. It would have gotten him enrolled in the Ghost Academy, then gotten him killed during training. He chose to get recruited by the Raiders. Their boot camps had lower casualty rates. He hadn’t been happy, but he’d been alive. Now, he was no longer a grunt. His future was uncertain. It unnerved him.

On the other end of the microphone, someone apparently lost patience. “Right, time for action.” It was Raynor’s voice. “Your task is to mark the command center of the enemy for a nuclear strike. It is surrounded by a small settlement, and several outlying fortifications. The enemy should not be expecting any attack.”

Wolf put on his goggles. He tested the different HUD options. Stetman seemed to be muttering in the background. He seemed to have been surprised by something. Wolf tilted his head. The gyroscope kept the false horizon steady. Everything seemed to work perfectly.

“Copy that. Nuke Command, keep head low. You can set me down.”, he answered. The answer was very faint. “Right. Stetman, load the program.” Apparently, Raynor had left the mic on. A landscape appeared on his HUD. The holo-simulation went from only projecting a ship to a whole environment. Wolf picked up his gun and walked to the rear hatch. With a hand on the railings on the ceiling to steady himself, he waited. The landing zone was approaching.

When it was time, he opened the hatch and jumped. The ship was still moving, but not dangerously fast. When hitting the ground, he rolled to lessen the impact. The dropship disappeared in the sky. He picked up his rifle. When he found the direction the enemy base was in, he headed there.

The landscape was dry grassland, probably subtropical. Very yellow. Rolling hills, with a bit of forest here and there. Not very good country for moving silently. Decent for disappearing by standing still, given the grass height. Perfect for snipers. Not so good for getting close enough to paint a target.

Wolf walked up the hill. Through his earpieces, he overheard the conversation taking place in the observation room. They hadn’t noticed the microphone transmitting.

Raynor picked the new topic: “So, Stetman, run by me again what those implants do.” The scientist cleared his throat. “They, uhm, catch the sensory input of the brain.” “Looks like a black-n-white video to me. The edges seem funny.” The scientist became enthusiastic. “That is, sir, because the eyes have an interior edge sharpening mechanism. It took some trial and error to reassemble the interpreted information back into an intelligible imagery.”

“What the Commander meant to say”, another voice interrupted him, “is that we can’t see any advantage over the integrated helmet camera.” It was a measured and respectful voice. There was carefully hidden eagerness underneath. Matt Horner, second in command. He wasn’t in favor of experimentation. He wanted to see the Dominion fall. All the other things he considered distractions.

Wolf reached the crest of the hill and scanned the landscape. There was a road going down the slope. A bunker had been erected next to it. The base itself was visible through a thicket of shrubs, located between some hills. There was a watchtower overlooking it.

As Wolf was looking, the conversation continued. Stetman had found a counter-argument: “Ah, but this only fails when the brain fails, see? And, well, there’s more. I haven’t managed to find a proper reverse function for it, but in time, I can give your auditory, olfactory, tactile and psionic input!” There was a short, embarrassed silence. Stetman cleared his throat again. “What he hear, smells and feels, sir.”

There was a deep mumbling. The person it belonged to apparently sat too far away from the microphone. Wolf could identify him nonetheless. Tosh was the only one with such a gravelly voice. There was a short silence. Then, Raynor asked, intrigued: “Can you read minds with that, Stetman?” The scientist cleared his throat, again. “Weeell, not as such, per se. The implant is not designed to analyze more than the sensory areas, sir, not to gauge the entirety of his cognitive processes.”

“You did list psionics, didn’t you?”, Horner asked. Another throat-clearing followed. Stetman was apparently getting onto thin ice. “Yes. But you see, or could if I had the data analyzed yet – what I want say is that it is external. We can’t read Wolf’s thoughts as such no, but it might be conceivable that we – I mean I – will be able to extract telepathy from the psionics stream. So to say, in summary, we’d be able to watch Wolf reading minds, sir. Although I personally suspect that the chance of an for a layman intelligible readout are slim, as I have to make sense of data of a sense I do not as such possess.”

Wolf sighed and concentrated on the mission. A plan was forming in his mind. He activated the microphone. “Sir, is the accuracy of the PPS good enough to guide a ballistic missile onto a target the size of a command center?” There was a moment of thoughtful silence. Then Raynor answered: “The positioning system? Think so, yes. But you’d need to be pretty close to the Center to get the coordinates.” Wolf pushed his goggles into his hair. “Thank you, sir. Going radio silent.”

He threw his weapon into the grass, followed by the grenades. He decided to leave the revolver on his belt. There wasn’t much he could to about the suit. White, blue accents. Signature armor of a Ghost. He just had to hope. He set the goggles to send out a radio ping. Then they went onto the pile. He looked at himself. That was about as civilian as he could get. At least within the time constraints given.

He stepped onto the road. The bunker was visible between the high grass. The path itself was just two grooves of dirt between the plants. Wolf tried to walk like a pedestrian. With a bit of luck, he’d be seen as a wanderer who just happened to come through. He hummed under his breath.

“Halt there!” It didn’t take the soldiers inside the bunker long to come out. A Space marine came at him. The rifle was pointed at Wolf’s chest. He tried to act surprised. “…and I needed nothing it could give — Oh, good day, officers. What is the matter?” Wolf stopped where he stood. He smiled at the marine.

A second one was stepping out of the bunker. It seemed empty otherwise. Minimal staffing, as expected in a time of low alert. The man walked sideways. He stopped at L-Position, rifle ready.

The first marine ignored the question. “What are you doing here?”, he barked. Wolf made half a step sideways. Two more, and he’d be between the two Marines. He smiled simultaneously and answered: “Was just on my way home, officer.” He put his hands on his hips. The marine noticed the revolver. He raised his Gauss Rifle. “Hands up!”, he ordered.

Wolf did so, trying to look embarrassed. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, sir.” He took another half step sideways while moving. The marine did not seem to notice. He continued barking: “Right, tell us who you work for and we won’t shoot.”

Another half step sideways. Wolf answered to cover it up: “Weelll…” The Marine noticed that the position had gone from L to I. “What are you doing?” Wolf grinned at him. “Just getting off the road, mate. In case there’s a car.” He looked over the man. There was only empty road. The marine half-turned, unsure.

Wolf lunged forward. He rolled past the turned back of the man. Gunfire erupted behind him. It went through the spot he had filled shortly before. And the bullets continued, right into the other marine. His first instinct was to turn towards the firing person. That put Wolf in cover behind him.

He stood up. There was a panel at the back of every Marine suit with levers for medical purposes. It made first aid possible with having to take off the armor. Wolf flipped the switch connected to the anesthetics. Then he took out his revolver. The other Marine tried to circle around his friend. Wolf fired first. Two times. Both bullets went straight through the helmet visor. The man fell over, dead.

The other Marine began to sway. Wolf stepped sideways before the armor fell on him. He stepped on the suit. There was a switch to open the visor from the outside. He pulled it. The marine inside seemed to be still awake. He mumbled something, sleepily. Wolf ignored it. The helmet included a small computer with radio, HUD software and navigational programs. He jerked it out and put it in a pocket. Then, he followed the radio beeps back to his equipment.

The marines might have sent a message before stepping out. Wolf decided not to risk detection. After gearing up, he went back, away from the enemy base. He had his suit computer interface with the stolen helmet nav while he walked.

When he judged himself out of danger he stopped. He sat down in the grass and examined the new data. The enemy had naturally their own navigation system up. It included maps. When Wolf had the coordinates of the command center and his own position in their coordinate system, the problem was reduced to math. He let the computer handle it. Half a minute later, he ordered the nuclear strike. 

Raynor sounded impressed, but also disappointed. He had probably expected a more flashy solution. He asked Stetman to terminate the simulation. A few minutes later, Wolf stepped out of the holo-simulator. He was loading his revolver with the real cartridges again. He whistled a melody while working.

The Hyperion brass was coming down the from observation deck. Everyone seemed to have something to say. Wolf saluted. “Nice thinking, kid.”, Raynor answered, returning the salute. “It was the most feasible solution, sir.”, Wolf answered. Horner had a complaint: “A more traditional approach would have helped us get to know your psionic level.” Wolf stood to attention. “I understand so, sir. The psionics are only a part of a Ghost’s repertoire. And, with all due respect, a traditional approach could have been foreseen.”

Raynor lit himself another cigarette. “Well, that’s all for now I think. You can have the rest of the day off. Tosh said he’d begin with training tomorrow.” Wolf nodded and remained where he was. When Raynor saw that there was no answer, he walked out. The rest of the brass trailed behind him. Stetman stayed, scribbling something in his notebook. 

Wolf didn’t relax. There was someone behind him. There was a loud clonk and whirring servos when the man took a step forward. His voice was slightly slurred and gravelly. “You mighty impressed Jimmy.”, Tychus began, “He used to pull stunts like that too, before he became all legal.” “Yes, sir.” Wolf couldn’t think of anything else to say. Tychus waited for more. The Spectre wasn’t paying attention to what the man said. His thoughts were for more interesting. The big soldier frowned. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing sir.”

Tychus grunted and walked away. “Well, keep up them things.”, he mumbled, “you bein’ an example to us all and so on.” The door closed behind him. Wolf tried to make out his thoughts. The man was thinking of reporting to someone. It wasn’t Raynor. The last thought was the burly man trying to remember a code.

Wolf sidled over to Stetman. The scientist was scribbling furiously on his notepad. He started talking as reflex to someone walking up to him. “I never before considered the importance of the suit in the fabled accuracy of the Ghosts.” Wolf was interested, despite having something more important on his mind. “How so?”, he asked. Steman lit up. He was seldom in company of someone genuinely interested. “You see, the artificial muscle layer hardens and softens in accord to divert the recoil shock wave away from integral joints and to prevent excessive muzzle climb during firing.”

“Well, that is good news”, Wolf conceded, “but could you borrow me a piece of paper for a minute? I remembered something I have to do later.” The scientist looked nervous for a second, then handed over his notepad. Wolf took a fresh page. He wrote down the code Tychus had thought of. Handing back the notepad, he folded the sheet and stowed it into a pocket. Stetman looked interested. “Anything important, sir?”

Wolf grinned. “You know how it is. Importance is a relative concept overall. Take, for example groceries. In the great military scheme of our rebellion, the groceries are not important. And yet, if they are left out, our troops would starve and we’d surely loose. The actual importance does not lie in the grocery list, but the fact that groceries, overall, have been bought.” The scientist chewed on that for a moment. “So…it is a grocery list, sir?” Wolf chuckled. “If you like, then it is. Good day, Stetman.”

The next week had a certain routine. Tosh taught Wolf how to use his psionics. There were more holo-simulations. The scenarios had been carefully designed to force him to use his arsenal. Generally, the brass was pleased about his progress. Wolf was not happy about the close scrutiny. But he endured it. The training did not teach him much directly. But knowing the recommended way for a Spectre to behave gave him an edge. People were not prepared for him acting differently.

He could feel his powers growing. Telepathy became simpler. Thought patterns became clearer. He answered questions before they were asked. After a week, he started hearing voices.

It took him a day to figure out what they were. Their sentences were not made of words, but concepts. They were not talking to him. There was no indication they had noticed him. But he heard them, all they time. Nearby thoughts were louder, so Wolf could not often listen to them. There were too many people around. After two days, he went to a secluded area of the ship. And within, he solved the mystery. Thousands of minds, speaking with each other. There was only one telepathic network of that magnitude. The Protoss Khala. He listened to a speech given by Artanis. He could feel the mood of the entire Khalai Protoss at once. It was humbling.

Another couple of days later, he went to the Commander. There was something nearby. Not Khalai, but Protoss. It did not make any sense. The Hyperion was deep in Dominion space. Raynor listened, and believed him. After some hours of scanning, they found the source planet. And Wolf was sent to his first life-fire mission as a Spectre.


	3. Griper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We return for a last time to Griper's point of view. His actions will come up some time in the future, but he most likely won't show up personally.
> 
> I had some concerns about the last paragraph of this chapter, as well as some plot points planned for the future. I didn't want to scare people away with a Non-Con warning, and I still don't, but if you think it's necessary, please tell me.
> 
> * * *

**As mentioned on the first page, get the book[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/dwjo5opi1z1u9og/HaintPub.pdf). It includes all chapters, not just this one.**

Griper stood up slowly. The small shed had been built directly over a stairwell. He had fallen down the first set of stairs in his rush to open the door. The soft thing he had fallen into was Creep, which had conquered much of the interior structure of Bismarck base, from the looks of it. It pulsated slightly, as if mocking his clumsiness. He cursed and gave the stuff a good kick. Then he cursed himself for stupidity, given that he just had kicked a wall covered with a leather substance. His toes were protesting.

His radio came to life with a message from an open channel. It was the man he’d heard on the shuttle radio before. “Tanner, do you copy? Are you there?” The connection was bad with all the metal around. Seeing a lifeline, Griper answered: “This is Major Griper. Tanner has been killed in action during the shuttle crash.” The man sounded suspicious as he asked: “He’s dead? How come you survived that fireball?” Griper pulled a quick lie out of his head. “The ship collided with the ground nose-first. The whole cockpit was crushed. But we should focus on getting out of here.”

There was a pause in the conversation. Then the other man said, grumbling: “There’s space on the Hercules. If you make it here, you can join us. But I don’t think you deserve this. We’ll be finished loading in about ten minutes. That’s all you’re getting.” “Duly noted.”, Griper responded and picked up his rifle. He put on his helmet and set himself a timer on the HUD to show how long he had to get out of here.

“I have located building blueprints in the local wireless network”, a female voice announced over his shoulder. Griper nearly jumped, before he remembered that Lyra was with him. She did move noiselessly. He turned around and looked at her. Something seemed different about the girl, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

He ordered her to send the plans over and fed them into the navigation system. After a minute of analyzing magic, a grid overlay appeared in his vision that showed were the edges of the walls were, beneath the Creep. When he had located the hangar on the map, he set the nav to display the shortest route there and then finally got going. The clock was ticking mercilessly.

After another set of stairs, they reached the first door, a black rectangle in the purple creep. The stuff had overgrown the lamps and plunged the whole complex in darkness. The sparce bit of daylight coming from the door was not reaching much further, and Griper’s imagination filled the shadows with the nightmarish shapes of Zerg. He swallowed and, with his weapon aimed at the rectangle of darkness, ordered Lyra to take the lead. She complied, walking down the overgrown steps gracefully.

Griper tried to follow without falling, but it was difficult. While Creep wasn’t slippery as such, it softened edges and grew over gaps, smoothing the stairs into a slightly wobbling, wavy slope. Lyra seemed not to be fazed by this obstacle, but Griper had to watch his steps.

From above, there were still the sounds of Mutalisks audible, the leathery flapping of wings, the screeching screams. And from below, there was the ambiance of the Swarm. There was the dripping, the deep pulsing sound of unknown fluids pumped through gigantic veins, the slithering of appendages over the leathery ground, the hissing breath of monstrosities with more teeth than brain cells. The ripping sound might have been egg sacs bursting and the chittering in the background was probably a pack of Zerglings on their way to kill the last standing Terrans. Those background noises told every human hearing them one thing: He was far to deep in Zerg territory. And Griper didn’t feel any better about heading deeper.

At least he had Lyra to look at. She seemed more lively now, moving more fluidly and reacting to her environment. She had also switched on her flashlight on her own accord. Griper made a mental note to mention these bursts of initiative at the debriefing. It might be that they hinted of a deeper flaw in her dampening implants.

The next doorway came around. It was no different from the first. If anything, the darkness was even more pressing and the Creep was slightly thicker. According to the nav, they had to head down two more levels, then follow a corridor. Straightforward and easy, just like Griper liked it. The only problem was now the time. It was ticking down faster than he found comfortable.

After another two minutes of excruciating suspense, they reached the bottom of the stairwell. There was no door. The architectural overlay claimed there was one in front of them, but there was just a plain wall of creep. Griper cursed and let the program search for alternate routes. It presented one, but it involved a lot of detours. Griper cursed, and fortunately had an idea.

He punched the wall where he guessed the control panel of the door to be. There was a tearing noise, a rectangle of creep jerked sideways for a second, and then fell back in the old position. The door was where it was supposed to be, but it had been closed when the Zerg attacked, and the Creep had grown right over it. The door was open now, but the purple tissue was still in the way.

Griper pulled out his knife, intent to carve out a new doorway. He rammed the blade into the Creep and tried to pull it downwards. He lost his grip on the handle and stumbled, so stuck was the knife. Even getting it out again was harder than expected. It was as if the material actually tried to eat the thing. Griper cursed and pulled and finally the blade came free with an ugly sucking noise. The small cut he had made closed in front of his eyes, healing itself quicker than any human tissue.

With another curse, Griper brought his rifle around and fired the whole magazine into the doorway. Under the barrage of bullets, the material tore and finally a larger piece fell away, the rest hanging in strips from the frame like a living curtain.

Griper quickly stepped through, before the thing healed itself again. The view on the other side was not much better. The corridor was overgrown with Creep as least as thick as the stuff in the stairwell. And the background had changed. Before, it had felt like a cat watching a mouse. Alert, but tolerating the intruder. Now, there was hostility in the air, and a signal seemed to course through the psionic background that seemed far too much like a silent alarm.

And then the alarm went from silent to loud as hundreds of Zerg mouths bellowed a challenge at once. They seemed to come from every direction, and came closer with every second. Griper broke into a run. His way out of here way just down that corridor. It was a though he could hold on to, lest his mind became drowned in panic. And just to be sure, he switched on his cloaking.

The next minutes, there was nothing but running on his mind, watching the timers to both extraction and the failure of the camouflage go down far too fast. He presumed Lyra was following him, but didn’t spare the time to look. She had been deemed expandable since her first mission, and her continued success was mostly a pleasant surprise.

There was a female shriek behind him, and Griper turned out of reflex. There was only blackness, no trace of the female Ghost. He suddenly felt very alone.

And then he stumbled over something, not having watched his step. As he fell forward, nearly landing head-first on the floor, he prayed that he had stumbled over a crease in the Creep, or an overgrown corpse. As he turned around, he discovered that he was out of luck. The thing he had fallen over was a Zergling, and it was quicker to its feet than he was. And his cloaking went offline in just that second.

Griper aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger. Click. Click Click Click. He had forgotten to reload. Throwing away the useless weapon, he reached for his knife. The Zergling accelerated in that time and leaped, landing square on Gripers chest. He tried to fend it off with one hand while he grabbed the knife with the other, but the weapon refused to move. The dog-sized alien snapped at his helmet, despite his best attempts to get it off.

Using the other hand has well, Griper managed to grab the thing and lift it far enough to get a boot under its belly. Its claws slashed through his arms, but he ignored the blood flowing down his elbows. With a swift kick to its soft underside he got the thing flying backwards. It landed with a burbling yelp and rolled a few times.

Griper was already back on his feet and running again, onwards toward rescue. He didn’t come very far before pain erupted in his ankles, forcing him on his knees. His pursuer had caught up with him and buried its claws in his flesh. He kicked blindly and must have managed to hit something, as the claws came lose. Griper turned on his back to face his foe, and his heart sank. Coming up the corridor behind the first Zergling were even more of the alien attack beasts, plus what appeared to be a mess of spiky chitin plates with legs.

He could not make out more before the Zergling pounced again, landing square on his chest and plunging the claws on its back into Griper’s helmet. The HUD went wild, blocking his view and making the Major even more nervous. He blindly pummeled at the beast with his fists, breaking bones and ripping out large chunks of hide. For all their ferocity, Zerglings were not that durable, but they kept at it, no matter how grievous their wounds. Only when the things fell into pieces it was safe to turn your back to it.

The attack suddenly ceased. Unthinking, Gripper pulled off the malfunctioning helmet, then looked around for his adversary. It was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Griper’s view was filled by a beautiful backside in a white suit. Lyra stood crouched over him for a second, then jumped forward. Griper would have preferred for this moment to last longer.

She positioned herself between the approaching Zerglings and her mentor. I her right hand, she held a long and thin white, but bloodied, blade. Her tactical goggles seemed to be missing, and her long hair flowed freely. Her rifle had gotten lost as well. She seemed to be snarling slightly. The Zerglings didn’t waste any time with warnings and jumped. Griper closed his eyes, anticipating a bloodbath. He wasn’t sure if his stomach could stand the sight of something so beautiful being destroyed.

There was the sound of ripping flesh, and the burbling screams of the Zerglings. Warm blood sprayed over Griper’s face. He raised his left hand in a protective gesture, just in time to get it knocked away by what felt far too much like a dismembered body part. The thing came to rest on his chest. Carefully, the Major opened his eyes, ready to close them again if it turned out to be a human arm. The thing seemed to be a quarter Zergling, still oozing blood and a variety of other bodily fluids.

Not believing his own eyes, Griper risked a glance upwards. Lyra was fighting them all, and winning. It seemed not so much a combat as a deadly dance, her strange blade whirring through the air far too quick for the eye to follow. The Zerglings tried their best to get close, but somehow Lyra never was where they struck, instead pinning the snarling monstrosity to the ground with her blade or sending it flying with a anatomically precise kick. What she hit stayed down.

The melee with the Zerglings was over in a matter of seconds. That left the armored Roach which had now a clear line of fire. The thing made some kind of high-pitched burble and spit a ball of acid at the Ghost. Lyra somersaulted over it and landed on the creature’s armored back. Chittering, the Roach ran in circles, trying to throw her off, but Lyra held on, inserting her blade into the gap between the small head and the armored collar plates.

The insectoid alien began to hop up and down and shake itself violently, and a particular violent jerk managed to dislodge Lyra. She held onto her blade, and as it twisted in the creature’s neck, the small head suddenly popped out of its socket with a sad little sound. Not wasting any time, Lyra grabbed the chords and tubes connecting it to the body and cut them with a swift slash of her blade.

Less than a minute had passed since her appearance, and in that time she had taken apart an attack group of Zerg that would have been a match for a full squad of marines, and apparently without getting a scratch. Griper was impressed.

Lyra took a deep breath, wiped the blade on her thighs and bent down to pick up Griper’s rifle. Reloading it, she walked towards him. Behind her, the sounds of pursuit became louder again. It was only a question of time before the Zerg would catch up with them again. She bent down a stretched out a hand towards Griper, helping him up. He winced as he put weight on his wounded legs. The Zergling had cut deep.

“Put your arms around my shoulder, sir.”, Lyra ordered. Griper obeyed unthinkingly, happy to have the support. Leaning on her shoulder, he hobbled down the corridor. He could see light ahead, where the door to the hangar stood open invitingly.

Lyra ducked away from under him with a “Excuse me, sir.” Before he could fall over, she grabbed him again, but this time she was walking backwards. Griper lurched forward as fast as he could while also trying to keep them both walking straight. Lyra in the meantime fired his rifle at something behind them. From the sounds, she managed to hit, and fatally so. After about half the magazine, she turned around again and picked up the pace, dragging Griper along.

While it wasn’t a very dignified way to enter the hangar, Griper felt happy. For one thing, he had survived the trip through the Zerg-infested base. And at the moment, Lyra’s breasts were hanging comfortably close to his nose. If it weren’t for the pain of his injured legs and arms, Griper would have been in heaven.

The hangar was filled by a single ship, a Hercules-class transporter. Its rear hatch was still open, and a few soldiers were standing guard. They spotted the pair of Ghosts and began to take a few steps towards them, but another Marine, with an impressive camouflage paint job on his armor bellowed at them to stay in line. The low rumbling in the background became louder as the gargantuan engines of the Hercules warmed up.

Lyra hauled him onto the ramp and let go, turning around and firing at the masses of Zerg pouring out of the doorway. A Marine picked him up and guided him up the ramp, where the man in the custom armor was waiting. According to the stripes on his shoulder pads, he outranked Griper.

“You made it after all.”, the man grunted, “Grab a rifle and get firing. This bird still needs a bit of time until she flies.” Griper sighed. “With all due respect, I’m wounded and need medical attention.” “Riight”, the Commander responded sarcastically, “well, don’t feel offended if I don’t give a shit about that. Varming, watch the flank!” The Marine turned towards his soldiers, bellowing orders, Griper apparently forgotten.

While Griper certainly didn’t like the man and needed the first aid, he’d technically been given an order. He asked the soldier supporting him to set him down at the top of the ramp, where he lay down and tried to snipe things with the borrowed assault rifle. The Zerg had intensified their attack, throwing waves of Zerglings at the Marines who had formed a firing line at the lower end of the ramp.

But something was more worrying than the relentless and pointless onslaught of the small aliens. Near the hangar wall, a group of Hydralisks was forming a firing line of their own. Lyra had apparently noticed and was trying her best to kill them, but she was only one rifle, while the Zerg had endless reserves. And trying to hit something with an assault rifle over that distance was practically impossible.

“Damnit, fall back. Get in here and close the ramp!”, Griper shouted, hoping the Commander would see reason. After a second of consideration, the man apparently agreed and gestured his soldiers to fall back. The ramp was closing slowly, but Griper doubted it would be far enough.

The marines had nearly reached the interior of the ship when the Hydralisks intervened. The monsters fired their poisoned spikes in quick volleys. The hand-sized spines ricocheted around inside the cargo hold and several soldiers fell, their helmets pierced by the missiles. Among them was the Commander, who had been right at the front in a stupid and ultimately fatal move to raise morale. A soldier rushed forward, trying to save the armored figure, but Griper ordered him to stop. There was no point in anyone sacrificing themselves for the fallen man.

Taking command, Griper ordered the soldiers into a defensive position that could keep the Zerglings out of the hold until the hatch had fully closed. The helmsman seemed to have finally found his senses and launched the ship. The gargantuan transport moved ponderously out of the hangar and into the wadi. Griper could hear the Mutalisks pounding against the hull, but there was nothing he could do but hope. With a bit of luck, they’d make it into orbit.

Griper let his suit hack into the ship’s computer to establish a radio connection to the Battlecruiser. While it worked, he examined Lyra. She stood still now, as docile as ever, in one hand his rifle, in the other still the strange blade. It seemed to be made of bone or something. He wondered where she got it from.

His collar beeped slightly, indicating an active connection. Without the helmet, Griper couldn’t send much, but he could at least send the code indicating unforeseen complications, which meant that they’d procede with contingency measures. In this case this meant nuking both sites from orbit. With the Zerg around, that was probably the best solution. So far, no one had managed to recapture infested territory without cauterizing the whole area first.

As he lay down, exhausted, he felt suddenly as if every particle of his body was stretched a thousand times. The pilot had dared a hyper jump, quickly shaking off the pursuers and bringing them to safety. Griper informed the Cruiser that they were ready to be picked up, and was finally free of obligations.

Back at the Academy after his recovery, Griper visited Williams. The head engineer had been the one who designed Lyra’s implants and was still the person assigned for monitoring her. With his workload, one could have expected he’d shift this duty to a subordinate, but apparently the man liked having to watch the switched of mind of a Ghost. Griper disliked him for his personality, and the feeling was mutual. Williams used every opportunity to rile up the Ghost.

He was supervising the construction of new training gear when Griper found him. He acknowledged the presence of the Ghost with only a brief nod, not taking his eyes off the machine. “Williams, we need to talk about Lyra.”, Griper began. The engineer sighed. “I’ve read the report, Griper.” He didn’t specify what he meant by that exactly, and his thoughts didn’t give anything away. Someone who had stayed as long as Williams in the Academy had learned how to shield their mind against telepathy.

“And you find nothing alarming about the fact that she showed initiative?”, Griper insisted. Williams walked away to inspect another part of the construction. While he walked, he answered wearily: “I know of the phenomenon. The increased brain activity under adrenaline influence partially overcomes the dampening, allowing her to improvise and react to unforeseen circumstances.” It sounded like he had learned that sentence by heart. There was no way to tell if he was lying.

Griper burst out: “You’re telling me we’re loosing control of her on missions?” Williams rolled his eyes. “We’re not loosing control, Griper. She still can’t disobey orders or deliberately harm Dominion agents. And besides, this has been known for years. The council knows of this and has deemed it safe.” There was a hint of a smile under his bushy mustache. “I am on the council, Williams.”, Griper growled. The engineer chuckled. “One more reason we shouldn’t be having this conversation then. I am sure you have informed yourself extensively before passing such a decision.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, as he was fully aware how much Griper hated paperwork.

The Ghost switched topic. “And how did she survive that fight with the Zerglings? I know we’ve taught her martial arts, but that…” Williams whistled and shouted an order to one of the workers. Then he answered, still sounding bored: “Again, you should’ve read her file before complaining. She’s a Swarm-Ear. She can read the Hivemind and anticipate the movements of Zerg. It gives her a distinct advantage when fighting them. Evading an attack before it begins is a very useful skill, don’t you think?”

“And that strange blade?” Williams sat down on a crate and rubbed his eyes. “Hydralisk scythe, or claw or talon or however you want to call it. The things at the end of their arms. She must have ripped it off one of them. Probably killed it with that, too.” Griper leaned against the thing they were building. “And that is …one of these ‘improvisation’ things?” Williams seemed nervous. “Yes, that’d be an adaptation to the unforeseen consequences. Saved your life, if I’ve read the report correctly.”

“Where’s the thing now?” Williams shrugged. “In her room. I saw no reason not to let her keep it. It’s too unspecific to trigger a memory and maybe she prefers fighting with it instead of the standard issue knife. One never knows. Which reminds me, you do seem to still have your memories.” Griper grunted. “Wipe’s in an hour. Not that it’s any of your business.” Williams stood up and walked over to the construction. “You’re right, it isn’t. Now, if you excuse me…”

A few hours later, Griper had forgotten all about the mission. It was a security measure to prevent a captured Ghost from leaking anything. Griper had learned to live with it years ago. He might not know what he had done, but he could be sure it had been for the good of the Dominion and therefore for all of humanity. And while he might not remember what he had done, he vividly remembered how nice Lyra looked now. It was something that no man could ever forget.

And so he walked along the corridors of the Academy, finding reasons for his behavior to drown the last bit of conscience. It was only natural. Every man had to do it once in a while, unless they were lacking something. None one would ever find out. And she might enjoy it too, after all.

He reached her room. 51413. The numbers didn’t do her justice. He opened the door. It was unlocked, since there was no way Lyra would be going anywhere without prompting. She was lying on her bed, in a plain gray dress. He wasn’t sure if she’d been sleeping or just in her usual catatonic state, but when he entered, she sat up and looked at him, waiting. Her gaze seemed rather intense. Griper swallowed, but went ahead and ordered: “Take off your clothes. All of them.”

She did so, without complaint. If anything, her looks were even better without the clothes. Gripper pulled a condom out of his pocket. For the first time, he might actually enjoy his time off.


	4. Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November starts tomorrow and I still have some unposted text, so here is an out-of schedule update. For the next month, chapters will be added as they are finished, without any regard for schedule. But since NaNoWriMo means I'm jotting down at least 2000 words per day, you can expect the updates to happen often.
> 
> This particular chapter and the next one saw the most revision, existing in three versions. The first I wrote before I started university. Then, when I switched to LaTeX, I rewrote them to fit a bit better to what I had written in the preceding chapters. This is now version three and despite there not being much difference in the action, the Wolf we see in this chapter is someone very different from the Wolf of the previous revisions.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This chapter is the first with telepathy, so you'll probably rather quickly notice the difference between the html formatting and the pdf: In the pdf, I'm using italics for emphasis and sans-serif text to indicate telepathy, but since switching font style isn't an option in limited html, I changed it there to italics for the telepathy, and underlining for emphasis.

**As mentioned on the first page, get the book[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/dwjo5opi1z1u9og/HaintPub.pdf). It includes all chapters, not just this one.**

The doors of the drop pod opened. Wolf jumped out. He didn’t have much time. Orbital descends were rather noticeable. If there was an observer on this hemisphere, they’d come and investigate. Wolf didn’t plan to hang out until then. He put on his backpack, took his rifle and set off. His nav told him in which direction they guessed the enemy base was.

The target hadn’t shown up on optical, so there was a large area left in which it could be. The EM signature had been significant, the base drew a lot of power. Number of inhabitants, unknown. Wolf guessed there to be a larger amount. He had sensed them several parsec away. Affiliation, unknown. Wolf suspected Dark Templar by principle of exclusion. The minds here were not connected to the Khala.

His telepathy had problems locating Protoss over short distances. They were within a few kilometers. Beyond that, no clue. Possibly it’d get better once he was in range to feel alpha brainwaves. Small chance, though, with Dark Templar. Their cloaking techniques expanded to telepathy, naturally. Protoss had adapted very well to the species-wide psionics. That left Terran psions without their usual advantage.

Wolf pushed his goggles into his hair. There was enough sunlight, the air was breathable. The landscape looked pretty. Sandstone plateaus with forests on top. The ground was flat and there was not much undergrowth. Perfect for hiking. The Dominion had missed out something by not colonizing this world. The vistas alone could have attracted a lot of tourists. 

Wolf hooked the nav up to his watch. It was more than a clock. The digits of the timer became smaller to accommodate the compass. There were two arrows, one for north, one for the direction to the center of the search area. Both were estimates, but good enough for now. Wolf checked his heading. He had to correct his course slightly.

He stepped into a hole. His whole leg disappeared in the small gap before he could stop himself. The crack was hidden between small bushes and sand, not visible until one had stepped into it. It was only two feet wide, but apparently deep. Wolf made a note to watch his footing in the future. The next gap might swallow more than the foot.

The forest was less dense ahead. Wolf walked on, curious. The trees stopped, as did the grass. There were a few meters of bare sandstone rock, then a drop. The plateau ended here. Wolf looked down. There were dozens of meters sheer, vertical cliff face, then treetops. The valley between the plateaus were filled with forest, too. There was a broad river cutting through the mountains. On the other bank, there seemed to be less plateaus. The vista was still impressive.

Some cliffs had levels. Others rose the entire height uninterrupted. There were gorges cutting into the rocks. There were towers, rock spires and standing stones. Some shapes resembled things Wolf had seen before. The setting sun gave everything a red tint.

Wolf cursed. The Hyperion was setting, too. In a few minutes, the nav would switch to integration mode. That’d only stay accurate for maybe 500 meters. Less if he made sudden moves. The nav used the gyroscope to get his acceleration, then calculated his position from this and the last known location. It wasn’t very precise. The only use was in emergencies, when the PPS sender was not reachable.

There was movement in the sky. Too large for a bird. Wolf activated his cloaking. A nearby boulder was chosen for additional cover. Behind it, Wolf put down his backpack. He pulled out the binoculars and observed. Protoss shuttle, older model. Flying circles. Seeking for something, possibly him. The area did not fit, though. He had landed on higher ground. Searching in the valley would be counter-intuitive. The forest made optical recon ineffective as well.

Wolf made a mental note. No Observers. The robotic sensor suites were cloaked. Developed and optimized for reconnaissance as well. Their lack showed a shortage of resources.

The last sunlight faded. Wolf stood up and deactivated the cloaking. Optical recon was impossible in darkness. The shuttle would head home soon. He could follow it. With luck, it’d lead him to the enemy base. The binoculars wandered into the backpack. The goggles were put on, though. Their image intensifier was needed. Without moon, they’d probably not be enough. The shuttle was impossible to miss, however. The thrusters and antigrav glowed brightly.

The shuttle ceased flying circles. It headed to a point somewhere along the cliff face. Wolf raced after it, weaving through the woods. The thing was fast. It also was loosing altitude. It dissappeared under the edge of the cliff. To see it again, Wolf had to get closer to the drop. That’d probably be very dangerous. He tried to guess its destination from the heading. It couldn’t be much further ahead.

His brain got an urgent message from his senses. No tress. Solid rock ground. He managed to stop himself from stepping off the cliff. Just in time. He was thankful for the small tree growing out of a crag at the edge. It had provided the handhold for his sudden stop. Wolf cursed. This was one of the gorges cutting into the plateaus. He’d have to detour. The chances were good he’d get lost trying that. He looked down, trying to estimate the height.

He nearly lost his grip in surprise. There were dots of light beneath him. It was a village built into the mouth of the ravine. Protoss, judging from the building shape. His target was a lot closer than imagined. The only travel necessary was vertical. The small tree sagged a bit. Wolf leaned backwards quickly. A less fatal method of getting down was preferred. He checked his nav. It seemed still usable. The North arrow still pointed correctly. Wolf updated the other to point at the village.

He began to walk away from the river. Possibly, the gorge would rise to meet the plateau height further inland. It was his best bet. While walking, he pulled a sandwich out of his backpack. He mused while chewing. It was a good thing Raynor had not much to do the next days. This trip would probably take longer than anticipated. Especially since the night was extremely dark. His goggles had problems, even with infrared support. Maybe he should use the NIR flashlight. It’d make him visible, though.

His foot fell onto an empty spot. Wolf tumbled forward. His outstretched hands hit the other side of the gap, with him hanging in between. His sandwich tumbled down into the dark, half-eaten. He just hang there for a while, panting. Another cunningly hidden cleft in the rock. This time big enough to swallow him. He placed the hanging foot next to the other. After considering possibilities to get out again, he found that the only feasible one was heading down. It was the direction he wanted anyway. All that was left was hoping the gap didn’t get any wider farther down.

He carefully moved one foot. Then the other. Then came the hands. He carefully inched his way downwards, breathing heavily. Whenever he felt loose grains of sand under his finger, he stopped. Only when his heart had calmed down a bit, he continued. The descend seemed to take forever.

The gap got smaller, thankfully. He managed to swing one leg to the other side. His groin hurt from doing the splits. But his arms were relieved at least. And he could stabilize himself a bit more now. The sandstone had a lot of usable handholds. Even further down, the rift got narrow enough to change position again. He pressed his back against one side and his feet against the other. He had to hold the backpack in front of him. He hoped the Spectre suit material was durable enough to survive the friction of the coarse walls.

His experience with rock-climbing was zero. He had no idea how far it still was to the ground. He just had to hope it wasn’t that much. He was getting tired, and sore. At least he could reach his backpack. There was an energy drink in there. It took care of the tiredness at least. The other problem, he’d have to endure.

He moved his foot further down. It found only air. Not even toe contact to the rock. Wolf cursed. The gap was getting wider again. He tried to place the boot back onto the rock. Before he could, his other foot slipped. The cleft walls rushed up past him. He tried to curl into a ball. Before he could, he landed on a sand heap. For a while, he just sat there. He needed time to calm down. His mind found a distraction. One of his hands had landed in something soft. He examined it, curious. It turned out to be half a sandwich.

Still light-headed, Wolf stepped out of the rift. He had reached the bottom of the gorge. The high trees blocked the view to the sky. It was far too dark without flashlight. Wolf activated the small NIR torch on his goggles. He just had to hope the enemy didn’t use similar technology.

From what he could see, the bottom of the gorge rose in steps. They had been eroded, though. And fallen boulders had changed ground height as well. Still, he’d probably be able to find a vantage point. Heading into the village blindly wasn’t the plan. He set off downwards, looking out for a good spot. At least, he was at the lowest terrain level now. Additional gaps to fall into were unlikely. He kept watching his footing nonetheless.

There was a large triangular boulder cropping out of the ground on the last terrain step before the settlement. It was an ideal vantage point. Wolf took out his binocs again. They had an image intensifier too. The buildings of the Protoss village provided enough light. There was no more need for the NIR. Wolf switched it off.

The village itself was small and unprotected. There was a single Pylon in the center. He couldn’t spot anything looking like a military facility. That was puzzling. He activated the voice supression to record an audio log. “First entry. Protoss settlement has been located. PPS coordinates…” He looked at his watch. The nav had become confused by the trip through the gap. He used the coordinates estimated from above. “Consists of maybe half a dozen civilian buildings. No visible defenses, no great power consumers. Appears peaceful. On first sight, I’d say those are homesteaders, as ridiculous as it sounds. Especially given our location deep in Dominion space.”

He scratched his nose. “The capacity of those homes isn’t enough for the amount of Protoss I estimate to be — hold on.” He switched off the recorder. There were alpha brainwaves nearby. Protoss. Not connected to the Khala, either. Nerazim. There’d been no sound. He had seen no movement, either. That’d mean cloaked Dark Templar. He had no way of telling where the alien was. He contemplated his options. Cloaking was possible, if most likely useless. The sound might give away his position. Darkness was a better cover for now.

He kept his hand on his revolver. His opponent would have to make the first move. For some time, nothing happened. The presence did not grow or fade. The Templar was not moving. Wolf lost patience first. He stood up. To show he wasn’t wielding weapons, he stretched out his hands. “Fine. Cards on the table. I’m here. Show yourself.” he announced to thin air. There was no answer. The brainwave pattern changed slightly. His actions had been noticed.

Wolf got tired of waiting. “Want me to make it official? I surrender. Take me into custody.” He removed his revolver from the holster. It was placed next to the backpack on the rock. _Surrender? To whom?_ , a telepathic voice asked. It was old. Wolf could feel the centuries. The sentence gave him a baseline for Nerazim thought patterns at close range. He tried to guess the location of his opponent. Somewhere behind him. He turned around. “Well, to you, obviously.”

 _I have not been sent to bring you into custody, or for any other purpose related to you._ , the Protoss admitted. Wolf shrugged. He tried to make out the silhouette of the Templar. Cloaking always left a bit of disturbance where light was bent wrong. No such luck. The background was too irregular. The thought pattern became easier to identify, though. He had to keep him talking. “Well, excuse me if I don’t believe that.”

 _You are not required to believe anything, young Wolf. It was not my intent to distract you from your duty._ Wolf didn’t ask how he’d found out the name. Most likely the name tag on the suit. Or telepathy. It was a knack. They liked being mysterious. His mind had found the key to Nerazim brain patterns, though. The Dark Templar was standing next to that tree. Wolf grabbed his pistol and jumped. He hit the ground and rolled. There was no sound coming from his opponent. Wolf aimed the revolver at him.

The figure still didn’t move. _There is no need for the gun_ , he reassured him. “Necessitated by a lack of trust.”, Wolf corrected. There were Protoss brainwaves behind him. It was unnerving. His back was to the rock wall. He concentrated on the threat in front of him. The mind felt old. There was loneliness, sadness, desperation. A flicker of hope. _You work for the Raiders_ , the Protoss said. Wolf didn’t answer. It hadn’t been a question.

 _Very well. You presence here might have changed history for the better, young Wolf_ , the alien answered mystically, _A rare event in these dark days. I will no longer intrude upon your time._ His brainwaves vanished. They were cloudy for a moment, then disappeared completely. Wolf waited. He was expecting an attack. There was none. He turned around.

There was a rock wall behind him. The Protoss minds were inside. Caves, possibly. Wolf didn’t know if sandstone supported that. He looked up the cliff face. It was uneven, full of holes. The hollows seemed too regular. Nearly rectangular. Wolf risked the NIR torch again. They were rectangular and did not follow the banding of the rock. There seemed to be none further up the gorge. They seemed to extend forward to the corner of the plateau. Arranged in a neat square pattern. It reminded Wolf of a building.

Even if only one room deep, it could house more people than the village. It was a good ruse. Except for not accounting for Wolf’s psionics. But he was possibly unique. Even Tosh couldn’t sense Protoss like that. The specific benefits of the Spectre process varied from person to person.

He looked for a door. A building was useless without an entrance. At the bottom of the terrain step he’d observed from, there was a gap in the wall. Metal seemed to glint inside. Wolf checked for patrols. He couldn’t find any. He neared the door. No motion sensor, no cameras. Just a metal door, plus a key pad. They apparently felt very secure. It was an enigma. Wolf decided to enter the facility. He should have asked for permission first. The Hyperion was below the horizon, though. And he had no time to wait.

Wolf levered open the control panel. Protoss circuitry used a lot of crystals. It still was susceptible to a short circuit, though. After a minute of analysis, he bridged two contacts. There was a static spark as the metal connected. The door slid open. He stepped inside and activated cloaking. The corridors were illuminated. He switched off the NIR and image amplification.

The architecture was spartan. Few decorations, nothing covering the blank metal floor. The lamps were simple cylinders on the ceiling. Most door frames seemed to lack doors. No cameras in sight, either. Just blank, silver metal everywhere. There was the sound of heavy machinery in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are not familar with the term, NIR stand for `Near Infrared', and stands for the frequency of light that is just a bit higher than visible light. Okay, "just a bit" is an understatement, we're talking about a frequency band more than twice as broad as visible light. The advantage of the NIR is that it is pretty similar in its behaviour to visible light, which makes it perfect for nightvision equipment.
> 
> It has also the advantage of being cheap to produce and see. Nearly every household has nowadays a NIR flashlight and a NIR-sensitive imager: Almost all remote controls work by shining NIR light on the appliance with a small LED. We can't see the light, so we're not getting distracted by it, and the sensor also won't mistake random background light for the signal to change to pay-TV. But you can make that light visible with a normal CCD camera, as can be found in every digital camera and smartphone. The cheaper the thing is, the better actually, since higher-quality sensors have better filters to remove that unwanted light. Just point your camera at the small LED at the top of the remote and press a button on it - you'll be surprised.
> 
> As mentioned, the military uses NIR too, for nightvision equipment. The advantages over normal illumination are pretty obvious: When using a flashlight with visible wavelengths, you'll announce your presence to every observer in line of sight. The enemy can home in to your position and make it fatally clear that you blew your cover. When you use NIR, only observers who have NIR-detecting equipment can actually notice something. For all others, you're a shadow in the night.


	5. Lyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November the 1st rolled around, and I still got a bit of backlog. More importantly, though, I managed to get a .tex to .html compiler to work and updated all chapters to be readable from the archives. I did some major reordering, so now the chapter numbers of the pdf are the same as those here on the web. When commenting on something, I'd still be nice to include the page number from the pdf, since that allows me (and all others who want to check) to find the location of criticism faster.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This is also the first chapter from Lyra's viewpoint. Her narrative style is a bit difficult for me, and sort of invites to blather a bit, so Lyra's chapters are on average somewhat longer than Wolf's, I hope you don't mind.

**As mentioned on the first page, get the book[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/dwjo5opi1z1u9og/HaintPub.pdf). It includes all chapters, not just this one.**

Lyra sneaked through the woods, jogging from tree to tree, keeping watch for patrols that might cross her path, although she hadn’t seen any sign that there were patrols in the area, except for the shuttle that had been sent out to search for them after they had set down, which had been easy to avoid using the cover of the trees and the falling night, and as it had given up the search and returned to its hangar, it had given the two Ghosts a heading.

Her companion was 19070, fresh from training and not very experienced, which made him not the best candidate to guide her, but there was a shortage of operatives now that the Zerg had launched a major offensive on Dominion space, and thus many recruits had been pulled out of training early and sent at the front, 19070 among them, who was one of the luckier ones given that he didn’t have to face the xenomorphs and instead had been sent to investigate a Protoss presence within Dominion space.

Lyra waited patiently when he stopped and looked around nervously, following the last order he had given her, to stay close to him, which had made him for some reason even more jumpy than before, but Lyra did not question the use of an order, she always followed them as best she could, as the Voices kept telling her she should, just like she never should harm a Dominion agent, never trust any enemy of the Dominion, or question the legitimacy of the Dominion, all of them actions she would never even consider.

She remembered other Voices, ordering her around at times, as agents of the Dominion, superseding or supplementing her orders given by the field agent, although it happened rarely, in fact, Lyra could not recall any particular event where it had occurred, but she knew that it happened, and that it was a legitimate way for her to receive orders and explanations about certain things, the latter delivered by a concerned and fatherly voice that was not associated with an active operative, like Major Griper’s, whose memory made her feel itchy inside for some reason.

“There is a metallic door visible within the rock wall at two o’ clock.”, she announced over the radio after she had spotted the metallic rectangle in the sandstone walls, then continued her observations: “There does not appear to be any surveillance of the entrance, nor illumination within the observed frequencies.” 19070 nodded and swallowed, then asked nervously: “Do you think this is the right place?” Lyra was not used to being asked about her opinion this often, in fact, the Voices had taught her to keep her opinion to herself unless it was certain and relevant.

Dutifully, she looked up the cliff face, then answered: “The shuttle we pursued entered this cliff through a hangar door camouflaged within the upper third of the sandstone formation. It is reasonable to assume that a door in the same formation, below the aforementioned hangar, leads to the same structure embedded into the rock.” 19070 listened to her analysis, seemed to struggle with himself, then ordered: “Right. Five-One, try to open the door. I’ll watch your back.”

A small thought crossed her mind, questioning the usefulness of One-Nine’s action, but she did not pursue that line of thought, as the Voices reminded her, the actions of an agent of the Dominion were always correct and beneficial for the greater good, even if it meant sacrificing civilians or soldiers in the short term, herself included, especially if her death meant saving another agent of the Dominion.

She examined the door lock, which was connected to a simple keypad, without any further visible means of authorization, so she focused on the number keys, which were easy enough to circumvent, given that Protoss had a fat layer on their skin that left traces just like human fingers, so all she had to do was find which keys had been touched, and in what order, to get the correct sequence. With a bit of light, she spotted the fingerprints quickly, on four of the keys, with two of them smudged from the finger moving quickly to the next button, which gave her enough information to narrow it down to four possible codes.

She entered the first, which was answered by a warning buzz from the keypad and made her fear that it had now locked the door, but as there was no further indication that some kind of block was in place, she went ahead and entered the second possibility, which turned out to be the right one, causing the door to slide open with a faint whirr, revealing the metal corridors behind it that were illuminated by a harsh white light.

Activating his cloaking, 19070 tiptoed forward into the facility, pointing his weapon nervously this way and that, his figure only visible thanks to her HUD displaying a humanoid shape where he was standing, based on the telemetry his suit was sending over. “Right. I’ll take the lead, you watch the rear.”, One-Nine ordered, then proceeded down the corridor slowly and cautiously, peeking into every doorway he came across, his footsteps ringing on the blank metal floor, Lyra close behind him, watching the way they came as he had ordered, although she also risked glances into the rooms, which looked like offices and workshops and seemed to have been used recently.

“The metal walls represent a Faraday cage”, she announced over radio, “We will not be able to reach our shuttle until we have left the facility.” One-Nine jerked up and turned around nervously, calming down slightly when he saw her behind him, then asked: “How do you manage to move silently over a floor like this?” Lyra answered truthfully: “I have not given it much thought. Do you wish me to find out?” Shaking his head, One-Nine ordered: “Er…not right now. We should focus on finding out what the Protoss are hiding here.” “Acknowledged”, Lyra replied, then continued watching for threats.

She heard the patrol long before she could feel their mind, the metal-plated boots hitting the bare floor loudly, but Lyra couldn’t identify one of the sounds that was part of the footfalls, a quieter clanging of a higher pitch, as if someone was tapping an iron staff against the ground repeatedly. One-Nine didn’t need to be warned, having obviously heard the patrol as well and hiding himself in a door frame that connected the corridor they were in with one that was slightly wider, from which the sounds of the marching soldiers came, that both of them listened closely to.

The patrol rounded a corner and Lyra was able to count their members, four Zealots and one strange …thing she had never seen before, a silver chassis shaped like a gigantic drop, supported by four spidery legs that made the higher-pitched footsteps she had heard before, adorned with a tear-shaped shield stuck to the main chassis that seemed far more ornamental than defensive, while the crystal inlays in the body seemed to glow with dormant power.

While she spotted the small head attached to the lower half of drop shape, which seemed alive and glared rather malevolent over the shroud covering the lower half of the face, the patrol marched through the doorway they were hiding behind, walking right past without noticing the two cloaked shapes in the corners, who exhaled in relief as the first warrior marched past, but to her horror Lyra felt one of the legs of the contraption brush her leg by accident.

She jumped forward immediately, rolling into the large hallway, hearing behind her the sound of an energy discharge hitting the spot she had been standing, stood up and started sprinting, but before she could get far, something hit her in the back and she fell to the ground, barely holding on to her rifle, but she recovered quickly and was about to stand up again when very close to her left hand one of the spidery legs hit the floor, and she just managed to jerk her right hand sideways before it was crushed by another of the metal supports and she felt a bit of movement above her head that were probably the two small, hand-like metal feelers that were placed beneath the face on the chassis.

She held her breath, waiting, the only option at the moment, given that she couldn’t wriggle herself quickly out from under the thing and that it couldn’t spot her like this, the distortion that the cloaking technology was unable to remove hidden by the featureless background she was lying against, so she used the time to reevaluate her situation, focusing her mind on things like the speed of the machine, which had somehow managed to catch up with her in less than a second, or the fact that the Zealot suits had not been in the usual gold color the Protoss preferred, but silvery like the walls instead.

“I think that’s a Stalker”, One-Nine announced meekly over radio, “Dark Templar Dragoon or something. They can teleport short distances. Can you get out of there?” “No.”, Lyra replied, concentrating on her telepathy, as the Zealots had caught up with the Stalker and were beginning to wonder about its behavior. _What is the matter, Master Rakeem?_ The Stalker, most likely the one called Rakeem, did not seem to answer, although the motion indicated his focus had shifted away from watching the hallway, so Lyra used the chance to roll over, laying on her back, able to see the Stalker towering above her, the Zealots standing a bit forlorn behind it, and the shape of One-Nine’s head as he peeked out of the door frame.

 _As you say, Master. I shall inform the others._ , the Protoss who had spoken before answered, apparently to a response Lyra had not been able to pick up, but she noticed the Stalker twitching slightly as if in disagreement when his companion answered, then her train of thought was interrupted by 19070, who inquired: “Can you get a Lockdown on the Stalker? I’ve got a plan.”

Lyra fingered around on her utility belt and retrieved a grenade, which she carefully inserted into the barrel of her rifle, then twisted around until she could point it straight up, so the grenade would hit the Stalker’s shield, since the barrel was too long to place it differently. “Awaiting your signal.”, she responded to One-Nine, and waited.

The other Ghost responded almost instantly with a loud “Go!” that the noise suppressor couldn’t quieten, but before the Protoss could react, Lyra fired her grenade, disabling the Stalker with a shaped discharge of electrons that confused circuits, overloaded electric components and melted finer wires, while at the same time she heard the hiss of another grenade being fired by One-Nine, which turned out to be an EMP grenade, indicated by Lyra’s cloaking switching off as the processor responsible got confused, which was an unfortunate side effect of the localized discharge developed to destroy Protoss shields.

She dropped her rifle and pulled out her knife, which was a lot less lethal, but the situation was too crowded to use the long-barreled C-10, which had been developed under the assumption that you engaged enemies from afar, so she had to make do with the tiny blade, which was barely long enough to pierce a Protoss eyeball, but at least their shields wouldn’t get in the way.

Turning around and switching to a crouching position, she lunged out from under the Stalker and stood up quickly, identifying the sounds of Psi Blades being activated behind her, but for now she focused on the machine that was still covered by a network of crackling discharges, but the head seemed alive and glared at her malevolently, until she rammed the knife into the bit of neck that connected the head with the body, but she didn’t have the time to make sure the cut had been lethal, as one of the Zealots lunged at her, blades at the ready.

She dodges sideways, managing to rip the knife out as she fell, cutting a nasty gash across the Stalker face, while the first cut of the Zealot missed her completely and instead carved a glowing groove into the Stalker chassis, which he apparently felt sorry for, taking a moment to look at the cut, which gave Lyra a chance to strike, so she jumped onto his back and tried to plunge the knife into one of the Protoss’ eyes, but she missed and the instinctive reaction of the Zealot together with her momentum made her tumble over his shoulders and fall to the ground in front of him.

Before the Zealot could finish her off with a downwards stab, she kicked away his leg, causing him to fall to his knees, steadying himself with the hand, the blade scorching the floor, while Lyra jumped to her feet, felt movement behind her, stepped sideways and thus just dodged the blade of a second Zealot who had tried to stab her in the back, whose arm she grabbed and jerked forwards, using his momentum against him and bringing his fist to rest against the face of his comrade, the blade piercing the head, then stabbed the stunned Protoss under the chin with her knife before he could recover from the shock of having killed an ally.

Both of them disappeared in a bright flash of light and Lyra looked around for the two others, one of which seemed to have been downed by One-Nine, but the last was still alive and apparently had the other Ghost cornered and had the upper hand, judging from the blood splatters, so Lyra quickly picked up her rifle and fired a bullet at the head of the large alien, but he moved too erratic too lead properly and the shot ricocheted off his armor, alerting him, so he turned towards the new threat, while Lyra was quickly cycling the action and firing again, and this time she hit full mark, the bullet leaving a sizable hole in his face.

As the soldier disappeared in a flash of light, Lyra focused on the bloodied shape lying slumped against the wall near the door frame, his chest a criss-crossing of slightly glowing gashes where the Protoss blades had cut and burned at the same time, far more injury than a body could withstand, so Lyra had no hopes to find One-Nine alive, feeling guilty for not having been able to save him, although a rebellious thought pointed out that she couldn’t have known what happened while she was fighting, but that was quickly silenced by the Voices telling her that her life was worth less than that of any other Dominion agent.

Solemnly, Lyra made an entry into her audio report: “Upon entering facility, we encountered a patrol of Protoss, likely sent to investigate the anomaly caused by our entry. In the ensuing battle, Operative One-Nine-Oh-Seven-Oh has been killed. In accordance to Academy guidelines concerning casualties within enemy terrain, his equipment will be destroyed to prevent salvaging by hostile forces.” She sent the short signal for self-destruct per wireless to One-Nine’s suit, which ignited small thermite charges in the most important equipment parts, melting, burning or scorching them beyond recognition.

While she watched the smoking corpse, she was thinking, pondering about what to do next, since she was now alone and couldn’t be given any orders, which was according to the Voices her primary purpose, but didn’t help here, so she tried other approaches to the dilemma, like the guidelines for Ghosts set by the Academy, which stated that after substantial casualties, it was up to the decision of the highest-ranking survivor whether the mission should be continued, but the Voices reminded her that she was not authorized to evaluate the situation unless specifically asked for her opinion.

With the metal walls blocking radio access to the shuttle and the Academy, asking for guidance was not possible, which meant she had to find a solution for herself, without upsetting the Voices, which always made her feel extremely uncomfortable and guilty, but then she remembered the order One-Nine had given before he died, to focus on finding out what the Protoss did here, so to fulfill her orders, she’d have to go on.

Picking up her rifle and checking the bullets remaining in the magazine, she set off in the direction the patrol had come from, also the direction the ambient noises of industrial work being done were the loudest, so it most likely also was the center of the facility and the place she would find answers, although as she noticed with a bit of fear, her PPS had gotten confused during the combat and the direction seemed nonsensical, so, as she also hadn’t been counting how many corners she had rounded, finding her way back out of the base would be difficult.

When she went past another door leading to one of the office-like room, she risked a look around, with the vain hope that what she saw would shed any light to what would happen here, but there seemed to be very few paper and a lot of crystals around that weren’t likely to part with the information quickly, and she lacked the ability to read Khalani, but she scanned as many pages with the camera integrated into the goggles as time allowed, for the cryptographers in the Academy to figure out.

To her shock, she heard the sound of another patrol coming from outside, and also apparently already uncomfortably close, her cloaking was still offline, the room didn’t offer any good hiding spots either on first glance. A Zealot entered the room and looked around, bending down slightly to check beneath the table, then turned around and left again, announcing to people outside: _No one here. False alarm._ When he was gone and the patrol out of hearing range, Lyra relaxed her arms and jumped down from her hiding spot under the ceiling, her feet wedged on the top shelf of the rack that dominated one side of the room, and gripping the metal casing of the lamp set into the center of the ceiling with her hands.

As she continued her journey down the hallway, the Voices became louder, telling her that she was acting outside mission parameters, that her interpretation of orders was not conform to the standard set, that she was endangering the mission and should return to her assigned operative, apparently not having noticed that her assigned operative was dead, just repeating the accusations over and over, getting more insistent the farther away she went from the spot where One-Nine had died, giving her a headache and overpowering the rest of her telepathy.

She tried to appease them by telling herself that she was acting under orders, that what she did was for the good of the Dominion and that by risking herself she protected other Dominion agents, who didn’t need to be sent down here to risk themselves when she succeeded, but that logic seemed more and more nonsensical as the Voices persisted, so she tried to ignore them, focus on something else, keep her mind occupied to stop worrying, so she tried to listen in what the Protoss were saying, although it was very weak, nothing more than a bit of unintelligible background chatter, but as she set her mind on that, the nagging Voices faded into the background, but unfortunately came back when she stopped concentrating.

She noticed a rather large doowary, also lacking a door inside the frame, apparently meant to be shielded, not actually closed by a physical object, and beyond was the largest room she had ever seen, a cavernous assembly hall that filled the nearly all of the space of the hidden base, from the lowest level to the very top, running the entire length and nearly the whole width, with only two building-like substructures on both sides, one of which she was currently standing in, and one on the opposite of the hall.

The enormous space itself was filled with a gargantuan object made of curved metal, nearly as large as the hall itself, and it took Lyra a moment that it was the hull of a spaceship under construction, a Carrier from the looks of it, one of the largest ships the Protoss fielded, and this one seemed to be bigger than the standard, although she couldn’t judge that properly from down here, where the bulk of the ship was held in the air by three gigantic metal clamps, several stories high, that kept the ship hovering between them with humming force fields, a vulnerable spot Lyra filed away in her memory in case it was needed to destroy the thing.

All over the ship, Protoss scuttled, looking like ants compared to the gigantic hull, silent on the usual audible frequencies, but very vocal with telepathy, fragments of which Lyra managed to pick up due to her heightened attention, although it wasn’t particularly worthwhile, mostly being the usual chatter of a construction site, like _Put it down over there_ , or _Watch out, you idiot! You nearly dropped it on my foot!_ , which confirmed Lyra’s guess that the ship was still under construction, but didn’t tell her why.

Looking for more answers, she noticed that the upper part of the ship was still missing, or at least incomplete, and that several gangplanks were connecting the ship with the buildings, possibly to bring materials on board, but with a bit of luck she could maybe sneak aboard and find out more, although it seemed rather risky, but she didn’t care much about risks at this point, the Voices who usually were rather helpful in judging whether something was dangerous now complaining about everything.

She jerked back into the hallway as two Protoss walked past outside rather closely, then began to think about getting to the higher levels, for which she would have to find a stairwell, but she hadn’t seen any on the way in, which made her dread for a moment that there weren’t any, just elevators or something of that kind, but she decided to risk looking around more to see if there were any stairs around.

On her way, she fortunately didn’t run across any more patrols, although she could sometime hear them in the distance, most likely still looking for her, but she eventually found a stairwell without trouble, set into a corner of the building as if it was mostly afterthought and not often used.

As she climbed, quickly being out of breath due to the higher stairs used by the larger Protoss, two Protoss minds were descending towards her, as she realized with a start, and there wasn’t any place to hide nearby, the doorway to the next floor not within reach, and she dismissed walking downwards, which left as only option the cloaking, which as the HUD told had only twenty seconds of invisibility to offer.

Activating the cloak, she continued up the stairs as fast as she could without making a sound, while the two Protoss walked downwards, engaged in conversation. _I’m telling you, it can’t be done. There is no way to miniaturize the energy couplings without—_ the younger one of them complained before being cut off by the other. _I know, but She wants it. She wants everything he specified, including those couplings._ Lyra pressed herself against the wall as she passed the two, who were to concentrated on their conversation to notice the faint distortion left by cloaking systems, the younger Protoss continuing his complaint: _Look,_ _maybe_ _we could do it, if we had a lab, and funding. We don’t, all we have is an oversized box of scraps._

Lyra risked to breathe deeper again as they disappeared around the bend of the stairwell, and she switched off cloaking, her heart still thumping loudly in fear and her mind ringing in resonance with the dozens of Protoss voices around which all seemed to echo inside her skull without her catching any meaning, but at least it completely drowned out the Voices which seemed to have their mind now set on telling her to kill herself to prevent capture.

There was something else nearby, a mind that was like the Protoss, but then again wasn’t, confusing her, but she pushed those thoughts aside for now and concentrated on finding out more about what was happening here.

She left the stairwell on what she guessed was the sixth floor, which seemed more populated than the lower levels, the background chatter louder and more footsteps audible, although Lyra didn’t run across any more people as she flitted through the corridors, peeking into the rooms beyond, which were considerably larger than those below, most seemingly housing production lines for different kinds of equipment, one for example seemed to be responsible for the assembly of large robots that looked like armored caterpillars, which Lyra knew as Reavers, dangerous siege machines that she thought had been discontinued with the end of the Brood War.

Another hall was filled with an automated fabrication for some strange disk-shaped craft, somewhat larger than a Protoss, which were hollow and had something inside that seemed a bit like a pilot seat, while on the outer casing there were two extrusions, like exhaust ports, on diametrical opposite sides, which were connected to a hub on the center of the thing with some tubing, the purpose of the components and the overall object unfathomable to Lyra.

She jerked up. The strange presence was extremely close, from what she could feel. It came from the room on the other side of the corridor, close to the door, so she moved over and pressed herself against the wall. The mind on the other side seemed to mirror her. She sidled closer to the door, the presence keeping in step with her. There was a moment of silence in which she pushed her goggles into her hair, then she grabbed her rifle, aimed it at the door frame and stepped away from the wall, aiming at the space beyond. A man came into view, carrying a short assault rifle he aimed at her.

He seemed surprised and shocked and stared directly into her eyes, and into her soul. His face was burned into her memory, with the short, uncombed brown hair in which there was a pair of goggles similar to hers, just colored black, with the slightly crooked nose that had been broken and healed slightly out of position, above a mouth that seemed to smile slightly, even in shock.

His emotions washed over her. She felt shock, surprise. Confusion. The world faded around him. Her mind was sucked towards his face as if it was a black hole. There was another face, appearing in his stead. A woman with black hair loosely bound in a ponytail, an olive skin color and an expression of extreme puzzlement. One of her eyes was hidden behind the scope of a rifle. She tried to focus, but somehow nothing made any sense, not the strange voices telling her to terminate herself, not the gut feeling that she should pull the trigger, because that’d also mean killing herself.

For a moment she struggled, trying to tell whether she was the woman with the sniper rifle or the man in the dark armor. Then her concentration faded, and everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't quite get what is happening in the last paragraphs, it's a feedback loop between Wolf and Lyra. They get explained in Liberty's Crusade, so if you only played the games you might not know about it. It's an occupational hazard of telepaths working alongside partners, as it is not easy for the telepath to differentiate between their own feelings and that of their partners. So if someone gets nervous, the psionic reads that, and if they aren't very strong-willed, start being nervous, too. Since the Ghost is usually the most trained person in the squad, them acting nervous is a subliminal signal for the rest of the team that they have a reason to be nervous, too. So everyone looses their cool, the Ghost catches that with telepathy, gets even more nervous - and so on, until the whole team is gibbering in fear.
> 
> _Usually_ it can't happen between trained psionics, as their minds are shielded against telepathy, thereby breaking the loop. However, if a telepath deliberately lowers their shield and cranks up the sensitivity of their receiver, it can happen, especially with powerful emotions like surprise. And once it started, there's no stopping it, since now the telepaths are reading the thoughts of the other reading their toughts, so it gets _extremely_ recursive, until the mind gives up and shuts down.


	6. Lyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I break a bit a rule I try to follow, which is to change the POV after every chapter. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out a way to do that here, since it is crucial that Lyra gets this chapter, which is the first time she is free of the implants. It defines her character for the chapters to come, and allows us to observe Wolf from the outside.
> 
> This is also the last of the backlog chapters, everything that follows is uploaded in real-time, so to speak.

As was usual after she woke up, Lyra swung her legs out of the bed, still half asleep, wandered over to her closet to get clothes, while awaiting some order or indication why she had woken up, but this time her brain was nudged awake by her senses after she had walked a neat quarter-circle on the floor, because she wasn’t looking at a closet, but empty space.

This was not her room, although she couldn’t recall what her room looked like, she was pretty sure this was not it, lacking a closet, a table, having the wrong kind of bed and, as she discovered as she looked around, also being far too large, with a ceiling too high that made her feel as if she had shrunk overnight. From a neutral viewpoint, the room was absolutely spartan, the bed just a rectangle of metal fastened with hinges to the wall, no windows or visible doors anywhere, and no furniture of any kind and the words she associated with that were ‘prison cell’.

She rubbed her forehead to dismiss the spot of headache that she felt, which might have come from the other thing that seemed strange about her mind, that there was something in there, something alien and yet familiar, which didn’t do anything, as far as she could tell, just was there, at the back of her mind and waited, curious about what she was going to do next.

The worst part was that she couldn’t remember how she got here, or what she had done before, or even what she had been before, or who she was, her memory blank except for a few slivers that made no sense to her, like the hint of a smell, an emotion or a fragment of what she’d seen, hinting at something that was hidden from her, but had been once important, or at least memorable, but now she could no longer recall any of it and the bare cell she was in gave her no hints beyond that this wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

As it was the only thing in the room she hadn’t examined yet, Lyra looked down on herself, noting the outfit she was wearing, which was white, form-fitting and made of some kind of synthetic material that seemed to be rather sophisticated in the makeup, as she didn’t feel particularly hot or sweaty inside despite having apparently slept in it, and suddenly there was a spurt of memory returning to her, how she had put the suit on and taken it off, at many occasions, but apparently always in the same surroundings, except what seemed to be the first time she had received such a suit, at a time when she had been much smaller.

There was also another memory, forwarded by that strange presence in her brain, dumping information into the blankness of her mind, in a way that seemed strange but not uncomfortable, although it was a bit scary to experience it for the first time, but her astonishment for it was overshadowed by the memory she had been given, which told her that she was wearing a light environmental Ghost suit, that it was generally worn when the mission was in a habitable environment with a low chance for hostile contact and that it included many useful function within the thin layer that covered her body, including artificial muscles, cloaking technology, medicinal stimulants and others, a long list that seemed to include things she managed to remember herself as well as facts provided by whatever was with her in her head.

There was a hissing sound and, as Lyra discovered as she turned around, a door she had not seen before was opening, the side facing the inside of the room lacking a handle or any indication that there was a door, and through the door frame stepped a large alien, with pale gray skin and crimson eyes that seemed to lack pupil and iris and were glowing faintly in their sockets, framed by a rather round face that lacked mouth, nose and ears, while the hair seemed to be made of rather thick strands, which had been cut short and bound together with a small strip of fabric.

A Protoss, her mind told her, and the alien memories elaborated a bit, telling her that this was a Nerazim, if the skin color and the rather spartan clothing were any judge, as the large alien was just wearing a dark blue flowing cloak and a loincloth to ensure his decency, plus a metal bracer on one arm, silver with a green crystal inlay that glowed faintly, identified by the other memories as being a able to project a Warp Blade, a rather dangerous psionic melee weapon.

 _You are awake._ , the large warrior stated, his brainwaves otherwise faint an unreadable, which explained how he had managed to get to the door without Lyra noticing. “Yes”, she answered meekly, not sure if it was necessary to confirm such an obvious information, but apparently it satisfied the Dark Templar, who turned around with a beckoning gesture and ordered: _Follow me._ The first thing Lyra thought about after hearing that was trying to figure out whether a Protoss was likely to be an agent of the Dominion, a process hampered a lot by the fact that she had no idea what the Dominion was, and the information given by the alien memories wasn’t painting it in a positive light.

Abandoning this train of thought as useless, Lyra stepped forward and blurted out the thing that was still at the forefront of her mind: “Please, can you tell me …who I am?” It sounded ridiculous as she said it, but the Protoss seemed to take her seriously and turned around again, examining her for a moment, then answering thoughtfully: _We were kind of hoping you could tell us that. Sort of the purpose of an interrogation, really._ Lyra swallowed nervously, as she apparently was really a prisoner which did not bode well for her future, but she tried honesty nonetheless: “But I can’t remember anything!”

The Dark Templar sighed, or at least that was the impression Lyra got from his mental emanations. _All I have been told is that you and a friend of yours sneaked into our place and attacked one of our patrols. Then you managed to knock yourself out._ Lyra nodded, a bit of memory coming back to her, confirming the story she had been told at least in outlines, although the details were still rather fuzzy, but it told her something about herself that came as less of a shock than she had imagined, that she had willfully taken lives.

She looked at her hands, and her memories provided a kaleidoscope of images, how she had aimed at targets, pulled the trigger, wielded a knife and something even stranger, how she had manipulated circuitry, climbed up buildings, placed bombs and poisoned personal effects, impressions of missions she had done without any order or narrative, just small slices of the life she couldn’t remember.

Since she hadn’t given any answer, the Protoss lost patience and took her by the shoulder, pushing her towards the door with the words: _Come on, now. She wants to see you._ His grip was resolute, but not harsh and Lyra went along with him, not really having anything better do to, and maybe she would learn something about herself during the interrogation, while she filed the thought of escape away in her mind for now, as the hallways the Protoss were leading her through were bereft of any visible navigation aids and all looked similar, just clean silver metal corridors that made her wonder how her guide managed not to get lost.

As she was led down the corridors, feeling like a child compared to the towering warrior, her memories made her walk through a different building, with brightly lit hallway, the walls a sterile white, with small metal doors close together on both sides, each labeled with a number, and behind every door was a small room, with a bed, a closet and a desk, and to get to another place, one had to walk down the hallway, to the elevator at the end, which led upwards to rooms Lyra could not yet remember, but were familiar to her nonetheless, as this subterranean building was where she belonged and where she was at home.

She was jerked out of her day-dream when the Protoss entered a short code into a keypad and a door opened in front of them, revealing a curious-looking room that was nearly circular, with transparent walls sloping downwards, and in the middle a ring of bent consoles arranged around a large egg-shaped chair, with bands of metal looping from the sides upwards to form arm-rests and meet as decorative arches at head-height, crossing on the back-rest again, with a small circular disk covering the intersection, on it inlaid crystal what seemed to be a tribal symbol, consisting of a vertical line and two triangles that were bent to quarter-circle shapes, maybe symbolizing a rotation.

The chair was empty, the person it belonged to standing close to one of the walls, observing something on the other side, and with a bit of a start Lyra realized that this Protoss was female, and judging from her outfit also very much in charge, as she was wearing a slimmer version of the High Templar robes, although made from a silver metal instead of the usual golden alloy, and the skirt looking a bit more feminine, and also apparently being dagged, as not to hinder her movement, the belt being adorned with small drop-shaped crystals that glowed faintly blue.

The motif of the drop shape had been used on much of the clothing, as Lyra realized as the Protoss turned around and looked at her, the ceremonial helmet having that shape, as well as the shoulder pads and the long gloves that looked a bit like opera gloves to Lyra, except that they were made of metal, included a Warp Blade, judging from the green glow, and, as was deducible from the glint as they caught the light, the long spikes extruding over the elbow were actually sharpened, combining aesthetics with a probably deadly weapon.

 _I have brought her as you commanded, Teacher._ , the Protoss who had guided her announced and bowed deeply, while the female mustered Lyra with faint interest and then announced haughtily: _I am Dark Executor Liassa. You will bow before me._ The last sentence confused Lyra, since it had been a statement, not an order. “I will?”, she asked puzzled, but instead of an answer from the leader, her guide sighed quietly, then pressed his hand against her back, nudging her to bow forward, which Lyra did since it seemed to be the most sensible thing to do, except by the judgment of the presence in her mind, which seemed to disapprove.

Her hair fell over her face as she bowed forward, focused on the curious mental emanations of the Dark Executor, or rather the lack of it, as there weren’t even alpha brainwaves, generally believed to be omnipresent and not shield-able against telepaths, although they could be reduced and blurred out with training, but that wasn’t was Lyra felt, instead, the mind of Liassa seemed to be a black hole, a void against the background brain waves that was easy to identify, but completely impossible to read, not even a hint of a thought slipping out when she spoke.

 _At ease._ , Liassa ordered, sounding a bit bored, possibly on purpose, as the rigid caste system of the Protoss encouraged arrogant behavior towards subordinates, and as Lyra righted herself the Dark Executor was looking at her intensely, her emerald eyes glowing strong enough to leave afterimages on Lyra’s retina.

 _I believe it is customary to introduce oneself._ , she ordered and stepped away from the walls, towards the chair in the center of the room, looking at the other Protoss for a moment, during which she must have send him a telepathic message, because the warrior nodded and announced: _I shall see to it, my teacher._ , then walked towards the door while Liassa directed her attention back to Lyra, who was pondering somewhat nervously.

“You want my name?”, she asked, more thinking aloud than actually waiting for an answer, as the problem was, as she realized to her rising panic, that she couldn’t remember her name, every time she tried to get a hint from her blurry memories, the foreign ones got in the way, telling her a name, but that certainly wasn’t hers. “Five-One?”, she mumbled, unsure, “I think it was something like that …” _51413_ , the Protoss appended from the door, apparently too interested in the discussion to fulfill the orders he had been given, _It’s a code reused in several metadata blocks._ Lyra nodded, her memory unblocking a bit upon mention of the full identifier.

 _I will not partake in the deplorable custom of referring to Terran warriors by numerals._ , Liassa announced, which made Lyra once again try to find anything that had been used to refer to her, not really expecting much, but her mind rather quickly popped up a new word, although she didn’t say that aloud, it was private nickname, not something she wanted to be called by an arrogant Protoss, and then finally she found something that felt right. “Lyra…”, she mumbled, caught in that blurry and distant memory of sunshine, freshly cut grass and a sense of freedom.

 _The technicians found that the implants in her head had all a similar serial number, Saiph-something._ , her guide supplied, apparently not having heard what she had murmured, and Liassa glared sharply at him for the repeated subordination, so the warrior quickly bowed and retreated out of the room. _Layla, you said?_ , the Dark Executor asked. “Lyra. My name is Lyra.”, she answered with a definite tone of voice, and as she said the word it very much felt right, and for a moment she believed to recall a similar scene where she had defiantly insisted on her name.

 _I see_ , Liassa answered, making herself comfortable on the chair, _I want you understand that it was by my mercy that your neural implants have been deactivated and free will returned to you. In exchange for that act of generosity, I demand nothing more than information._ “I’ve already been told that I’ll be interrogated.”, Lyra snapped, some part of her mind telling her to hate the Dark Executor and only after the outburst she realized it had been that foreign presence.

The Protoss shook her head. _Interrogation is such a crude word. If the exchange of information is satisfactory in normal conversation, why should one use coercive measures?_ , she asked, and Lyra answered before she noticed it had been a rhetorical question: “Because it might be faster.” Ignoring the comment, Liassa ordered: _Step towards the window. Tell me what you see._ Lyra did so, mostly out of curiosity, since somehow she knew that behind the transparent wall there was something connected to her.

As she stepped closer, she saw that the room was overlooking the prison cells, possibly also the one she had been in, but since they all looked the same, she couldn’t tell, but she easily saw what the Executor had wanted her to examine, as only one of the cells was occupied, with a male Terran in a dark Ghost suit who seemed intimately familiar, but Lyra couldn’t actually recall from where.

She guessed the transparent walls to be one-way mirrors, but nonetheless the man reacted to her presence, looking up to her with a faint smile on his lips, then he frowned for a moment, turned his head and combed down some erratic tufts of hair down with his hand, although that didn’t much improve his rather messy hairstyle, but Lyra was more interested about how the man had seen the spot, since he had actually turned his head away from the reflective surface to correct it.

 _Well?_ , Liassa asked impatiently, and Lyra blurted out the first thing that came to her mind: “Wolf” That answer had been supplied by that presence in her mind, which seemed in its makeup remarkably similar to the bits of psionic emanations she could feel from the Spectre in the cell. _That much I have already gathered, but I would prefer to know his real name._ , the Executor responded, her emerald eyes reflected on the transparent wall.

Lyra opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The presence was preventing her from saying it. She stuttered: “He…he doesn’t want me to say.” The presence receded a bit again, but was still watchful, but Lyra tried to push it back, having disliked the way it had suddenly taken over her mind, not painfully or disruptively, but just by strength of will, an alien and uncomfortable experience. _I insist._ , Liassa repeated her request, and her eyes flared up.

“Look, I’m trying. His name is …”, Lyra began, the presence once more suddenly blocking her thoughts, desperately trying to hinder her from acquiring the knowledge she had been asked for, but this time she tried to fight back. “He is …” She gasped for air. “I am Wolf.”, she announced. For a moment she expected that her voice sounded different, but it still was the same, despite the presence controlling her lips and vocal cords for a small moment. _Get out of her head._ , the Executor snarled, directed at Lyra but not quite at her, and then she realized that the Protoss had probably been reading her mind the whole time. _Take your time._ , Liassa said in a tone of voice that very much meant the opposite.

Lyra took a deep breath, feeling the presence getting stronger again, but she shoved it back and shouted: “Peter Rayet. Now get off my case!” She wasn’t sure at whom she had meant to direct that last comment, and for a moment she feared Liassa would be insulted, but that thoughts were overshadowed a moment later by the hurtful feelings of the presence, which she had betrayed for pleasing the Executor, although the intensity of the emotion confused her, not understanding why it could be so important not to tell anyone their real name.

Removing an invisible speck of dirt from her skirt, Liassa commented: _There we are. It is not such an arduous activity after all, is it?_ Lyra shook her head, feeling exhausted despite just having stood there silently, the mental battle having taken more out of her than she expected, and quietly she asked: “Why are you doing this to me?” _I am not doing anything. Every trouble you might have is of your own design._ , the Executor said smugly, but Lyra could tell that she was lying.

 _She counts on the connection getting stronger._ , Wolf commented, his telepathy feeling strange, not quite like the speech of the Protoss, but also not like the usual projection of words into another’s mind by a human psionic, the closest similar thing Lyra could think of being the way she also received his memories, which was probably what Wolf meant with ‘connection’, or at least part of it, as there were more thoughts of his on this topic that were presented to her when she thought about it.

 _Now that we have ascertained his name, let us proceed with other priorities. Who sent him, and why?_ , Liassa asked, either not reacting to Wolf’s mental message, or not having noticed it, and as Lyra opened her mouth to answer, there was a short mental protest, then Wolf gave up, shrugged and let her go ahead: “Raynor’s Raiders. Wolf sensed your base from …from orbit, and they became curious, and sent him down to investigate.” That was not the whole truth, as far as Lyra could tell, but she could agree with Wolf that there was no need to tell the Executor more than was necessary.

The Protoss sighed and shifted her position on the chair a bit, apparently disappointed, so Lyra asked, not quite understanding: “Is that not what you wanted to know?” There was no answer from the female, instead the door opened again after some moments of silence, the same Protoss who had brought her standing in the door frame, bowing and then entering, subserviently asking: _Yes, my teacher?_ Liassa waved vaguely towards Lyra, ordering: _Have her brought down to him._

Wordlessly, the warrior moved over to her and took her arm, pulling her gently, and Lyra followed reluctantly, still waiting for an answer to her question, although it became clear that Liassa wouldn’t give one, completely ignoring both the Ghost and the Protoss, instead staring thoughtfully ahead.

As Lyra was led down the stairs, she tried something, not wanting to go back in a cell, and activated her cloaking, or at least wanted to, as it was apparently either disabled or the juice used up, so she remained visible, and her guide, who had apparently noticed that commented: _Can’t blame you for trying._ He continued to steer her down the steps in the same pace, and Lyra focused on other things, as in that moment something had happened to Wolf’s presence in her mind, becoming a bit more fuzzy and more difficult to tell apart from her own thoughts, apparently because Wolf had stopped concentrating in keeping his thoughts to himself.

It was very confusing for a moment, since she suddenly got every sensory input in duplicate, and despite being able to tell apart which were hers, she still believed for a moment to be in two places at once, and didn’t really like being in either, but then it cleared up a bit, as she managed to identify one of the two persons as Wolf, who seemed not to have similar troubles, mostly because he always seemed so sure about who he were, something that Lyra guessed might come from him actually remembering who he was.

He began to say something as Lyra was escorted to the cell door, a poem from the sound of it, clearly audible to Lyra despite no sound reaching her ears: “Half sunk, a shattered visage lies…” The cell door opened, and Lyra saw herself for the first time, through Wolf’s eyes, and for a split second she very much doubted that the good-looking woman she saw being pushed into the room was the same person as she. “…whose frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command…”, he continued his recitation.

“…Tell that its sculptor well those passions read which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things…”, Lyra mumbled, the words coming from her mind, and yet she didn’t know them. “Memory is a fickle thing, is it not?”, Wolf asked, and the effect Lyra felt when he spoke was strange, as she heard the words through both his and her ears, and was able to read them from his mind as well, resulting in an echoing effect.

“You know what I know, and yet you know that I am the one knowing, not you.”, Wolf continued talking, not waiting for her to find a response to his question, “It is similar with the senses, the memories, the thoughts – sharing without recursion. Remarkable.” Lyra opened her mouth to respond that she had figured all that out already, but Wolf interrupted her with a telepathic message: _Don’t. Try to hide what you know. Exchange crucial facts without talking._ Able to connect the dots with his thoughts, she answered: _So she really can read our minds?_

Wolf rubbed his forehead. _Yes, but not completely, I think. She can’t hear our connection._ , he explained, while remembering his own encounter with Liassa, which had been far less polite than Lyra’s, with Wolf refusing to answer, and the Executor pulling the information out of his mind with mental hooks, painfully and irresistible, which also explained the contempt she had felt earlier, which hadn’t actually been her own, but an empathic response to Wolf’s opinion.

Lyra crossed her arms. “Where do I know you from?”, she asked, and although the answer was supplied mentally immediately, Wolf took the time to formulate a response, which was completely different from his mental answer: “We knocked each other out while scouting the place. Feedback loop, two-sided, fueled by confusion. Not a pretty picture.” _You know me because I know me. You know all my memories, and I’m all over my memories._

“I think I remember that.”, Lyra murmured, trying to make sense of the fuzzy place that was her memories, “but shouldn’t that be impossible? Psionics have mental shields against telepathy.” Wolf looked embarrassed for half a second, although he never stopped smiling. “Well, mine was down because I had messed around with the way I received brainwaves. As for you, it’s still fuzzy, but I think voices were involved.” The Voices, which Lyra had completely forgotten until now, and suddenly became extremely noticeable by her absence, as she could remember them being a constant in her life, and now they were suddenly gone. _Don’t mourn after them. They were the Dominion implants controlling you._ , Wolf added by way of explanation.

Since her memories were confused on that point, Lyra abandoned that line of thought and directed her interest towards a dichotomy in Wolf’s actions, as his thoughts were angry and brooding, looking for a way out, but he didn’t pace around the cell like a caged tiger, instead he stood still and smiled, as if he was perfectly fine with being captured here. “Why are you smiling?”, she asked, and could feel the answer his mind provided, but it didn’t make much sense to her, as if Wolf had two opinions about it himself. “Because the joke’s on those who try to read me.”, he deflected the question.

 _You’re sleepy._ , she blurted out, since it seemed a rather strange way to feel at this moment, and Wolf sniffed the air is response, not even needing to tell Lyra what he smelled, since she could identify the sharp chemical smell herself. “Knockout gas.”, he mumbled and began to fall forward, and as Lyra tried to rush to him to catch him, her legs gave away and her head became heavy, and she hit the ground at about the same moment as he did. 


	7. Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm not sure if this is safe to post without a warning. I tried not to mention anything explicitly. This is the last time there'll be sexual activity in this work, but the repercussions of this will probably come up from time to time, as it is a pretty traumatizing experience for Lyra.
> 
> This chapter is also why I introduced different narrative styles for Wolf and Lyra. They exist pretty much only for that one scene, so I can show, not tell, what is happening between the two. I hope it works for you as well.

**As mentioned on the first page, get the book[here](https://www.dropbox.com/s/dwjo5opi1z1u9og/HaintPub.pdf). It includes all chapters, not just this one.**

There was a regular beeping. Wolf opened his eyes. Brightly lit room, but dark walls. The beeping was in synch with his pulse. That meant hospital, or med bay. The psionic background was familiar. He had been brought to the Hyperion and was lying in a hospital bed.

Lyra wasn’t nearby, but he could feel her. She had been awake for a few minutes now. She was at the Ghost Academy, in a similar situation. Their medical facilities were cleaner, though. There was also more monitoring equipment. _You have to be careful._ , he warned her, _Why? This is my home._ , she asked, not getting the point. He elaborated: _You’re not supposed to have free will. They’ll kill you, or worse, if they find out._

Her thoughts were received clearly, despite the distance. There had to be several parsecs between the Academy and the Hyperion. Wolf still couldn’t quite understand what Liassa had done to them. But apparently he now permanently shared his mind with Lyra. It was rather similar to the Khala, but with fewer nodes. And it somehow it had managed to untangle the feedback loop they had built up. Additionally, it seemed to prevent new ones from forming. Another proof of the feats Protoss technology could achieve, if they put their minds to it.

His train of thought was interrupted by the door opening. A doctor looked through the doorway. “You’re awake?”, he asked, somewhat redundantly. Wolf nonetheless confirmed it. “You’re free to sit up.”, the small man offered, “but be careful when removing the electrodes. I’ll go and get you some clothes. Are you hungry?” Wolf nodded. Carefully taking off the sensors, he sat up. “How long was I out?”, he asked, out of curiosity. The doctor checked his watch. “Er …forty-three hours since we found you.” Two days, with less than a lungful of gas. Protoss were crafty.

The doctor left. There were a few minutes of silence. He used them to give Lyra some pointers: _Do exactly what they ask you to. Don’t do anything else. Don’t mention me or our connection. And_ _don’t_ _ask questions, no matter how curious._ Lyra felt a bit disgruntled, being ordered what to do. But she saw the necessity. A similar scene unfolded on her side. The doctor however did not wait for questions. He didn’t offer food, either. Lyra just waited, silently.

The doctor entered the room again, carrying a stack of black clothes and a sandwich. “Er …that was given to me from your squad mates. I hope this isn’t a prank. Also, a sandwich. Egg and cress, only thing I could get in a hurry.” Wolf jumped off the bed. “The clothes are mine. Thank you.”, he answered and took both off the doctor. The small man added: “Also, the Commander asked for you.” Wolf had expected that. He’d be needed for debrief. Raynor wouldn’t be happy about having been delayed for two days. He slipped into his clothes. Then he ate the sandwich. He wasn’t sure what kind of eggs these were, but they were tasty.

It was a few minutes later that Raynor came by personally. Wolf saluted. The Commander returned the salute, then ordered: “At ease.” Wolf continued eating. “Good to see you up, son.”, Raynor began. He was smoking one of his usual cheap cigarettes. Wolf swallowed the last bite. “I am ready to report, sir. Sorry for my untimely unconsciousness.” “No need for an apology, we all could use the extra shut-eye.”, Raynor tried to assure him. He beckoned Wolf to follow. “But let’s get the debrief done.” Wolf walked after him in a respectful distance.

They walked through the corridors of the Hyperion for some time. Lyra in the meantime had been sent to her room, then suddenly summoned again by a voice that seemed familiar. She was on her way now. The Academy was brighter lit than the Hyperion. It seemed less hospitable though. The fact that it took free will had left its mark on the psionic background.

They reached a small conference room near the bridge. Tosh was hiding in one of the corners, Stetman was setting up the holographic screen. No trace of Horner or Findlay. That relaxed Wolf a bit. The Captain had a knack of getting to the point. And the large marine had a sick mind. The current company was easier on the telepathy. Except possibly Tosh. Wolf noticed that he could read some faint surface thoughts. His powers had grown since he had left for the planet. Piercing a Spectre’s mind shield was impressive.

“Take a seat.”, Raynor offered after slumping into a chair. Wolf thanked him, but remained standing. “How is it going, Stetman?”, the Commander asked. The scientist jerked up nervously: “Er…” “Take your time.” Wolf took the initiative: “What do you know already, sir?” Raynor shook some ash off his cigarette: “Well, you went down there and we didn’t hear a peep until the place got out of sight. Two orbits later, we got an emergency signal. Sent down a ship, and they found you lying in the drop pod crater, sleeping like a stone. Your equipment was offline, the video feeds erased. That tech in your head got shut off as well, but at least we got the feed for that.”

“Not much, though. The circular memory can only hold twelve hours of information. And most of it is blank, too. We got the action from somewhere in the middle.”, Stetman added, still fumbling around with the hologram. His preparations always took longer than those of an amateur. Wolf began to recount what happened. His words were listened to in silence. He omitted his trip down the rift. When he reached the point where he met the Dark Templar, Stetman interjected: “I think we got that.”

He scaled up the holo display to show what he had found. All the display windows were stuck over each other. “Those points of data make a beautiful line.”, Wolf commented. He couldn’t help himself. Stetman looked confused. He managed to untangle the windows. In the center, enlarged, was the video feed. Around it, the other readouts from his brain. “I also managed to decode audio”, the scientist announced proudly. The sound was not very clear, but it worked. Wolf’s voice sounded strange.

The conversation with the Dark Templar was one-sided. The answers he had given were in the psionics stream. Stetman hadn’t managed to decode that. It was unlikely he would ever manage to. Everyone watched silently. Wolf felt strange, watching himself on screen.

Lyra in the meantime had arrived. She was apparently scanned with a tomograph first. Then, and older man came and attached some electrodes to her head. He seemed to be confused by the readout. His face with the bushy mustache seemed familiar. He looked at Lyra, she looked at him. Then he sighed, and made a note. He ordered her to give a report. Lyra did so, carefully wording what she said. Her memory seemed to have cleared up a bit. At least concerning the last mission.

The video reached the interesting point. Wolf had investigated an assembly line, then felt Lyra. He watched the psionics data stream. The line there suddenly split in two. “That’s interesting.”, he mumbled. The loop had begun before they had made eye contact. “What?”, Stetman wanted to know. Wolf pointed at the display. “Ah …Yes. It follows a Feigenbaum bifurcation. Erm …It is still is a single line, it just oscillates very fast between the states.” “It’s a feedback loop.”, Wolf revealed. The information was accepted with no comment. The lines in the psionics graph doubled again.

Then came the moment of truth. Lyra’s face appeared on the screen, and then everything descended into static. It was difficult to discern the point he fell unconscious. “It continues like that for some hours, then goes dark.”, Steman summarized. He paused the stream. Raynor lit a new cigarette. “Who is she?”, he asked. Wolf thought about lying. He decided on a half-truth: “From her equipment, I’d guess a Dominion Ghost.” Raynor had expected more. His relationship with Kerrigan had made him savvy about psionics.

“A feedback loop is a messy process. I didn’t just read her mind and she mine. It got recursive. Without the Protoss, I wouldn’t be sane right now.”, Wolf answered the unasked question. “The Protoss did what?”, the Commander wanted to know. “I am not privy to their techniques, sir, but their effect was to re-stabilize our minds. They also deactivated my implants, in the false belief that they were standard neural inhibitors, and I guess also shut off all my other equipment and flushed the memory card. I was woken up for interrogation, then narcotized again and apparently left near the drop pod location with the emergency signal.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”, Raynor complained. “It is a message, sir. The leader of this facility does not fear retaliation. By sending us back with our equipment intact, she showed us our impotence in the face of Protoss technology.” “Do we at least know what they were doing down there?” Wolf had to swallow down the answer given on impulse. It was based on Lyra’s findings. “I was not able to find out any more than what you see in the video stream. Industrial assembly of possibly weapon-grade technology.”

The Commander put out his cigarette. “That covers it, I think. Jot it down in a written report. You’ll have the next few days off.” “Thank you, sir.”, Wolf answered and left. As he walked through the door, he overheard a conversation between Raynor and Stetman: “Can you reactivate the tech in his head?” “Technically yes, sir, although I cannot predict the influence the Protoss manipulation might have …” “Just leave it offline then.”

The next day, Wolf found Tosh spying on him. Standing in the shadows, trying to read his mind. Wolf ignored it. He had most likely been asked by the Commander. Raynor was rightfully considering Wolf an unpredictable element now. He had no idea what the Protoss had done to Wol’f mind. But Tosh’s mind scans would come up clean. Wolf had hardened his mind shield. A few days later, the surveillance stopped. Wolf was trained for a few days. He learned new psionic techniques. That included Psionic Lash, which could kill a man outright. That was proof that Raynor was trusting him again.

In that time, Lyra also did nothing. She had daily exercise, just to keep in form. Other than that, nothing. It was making her impatient. There were still so many memories locked. But her spare room had no clues. Nothing that could trigger the return of more memory.

The Hyperion changed position a day later again. Into hostile territory, judging from the amount of activity. Tosh didn’t turn up at the hour training had been scheduled. There seemed to be something big going on. But Wolf had not been called to duty. Therefore it was not his business. He used the time to do extra workout at the gym.

He was on his way to the cantina afterward. In Lyra’s room, the door opened. A man entered, in off-duty clothing. She remembered his face intently. Hated it, for reasons she couldn’t recall. Griper ordered: “Take off your clothes” In that time, he fetched a condom from a pocket. Lyra did as was ordered. She didn’t know better. No one had explained to her that what Griper was about to do was wrong. 

When Griper had unclothed and applied the condom, he didn’t waste any more time, just grabbed Lyra and amused himself, with no regard for her feelings, hurting her with his rough behavior, while she could do nothing but watch and endure, silently, the pain and emotion dammed up inside, with no way out if she wanted to stay undetected, and when Griper grabbed one of her breasts, her memories became unblocked, and now both Wolf and Lyra knew that this wasn’t a one-off occurrence, but something the Major did regularly, whenever he felt the need and had free time.

Someone was calling Wolf’s name, but he wasn’t listening, the red-hot rage over this mistreatment occluding all other thoughts, and when Griper grinned sickly from the bliss of arousal, he swung his fist, which connected nicely with the man’s face and broke his nose, and when Griper stumbled backwards they followed it up with a knee to the vulnerable spot, then a leg sweep that made the Major fall on his back, and then they knelt on his chest and pounded his face with their fists, again and again and again, letting out all the anger and pain and hate.

Wolf stopped. The rage receded. His fists were bloody. In front of him was a badly beaten face. But it wasn’t Gripers. Griper was parsecs away, in the Academy. In his fury, he had mistaken Lyra’s sight for his own. The man had just happened to stand approximately where Griper had been. And Wolf had unleashed his hatred against him. Numbly, he stood up, and called a medic. It was the most sensible choice.

The doctor arrived pretty quickly, together with a marine. “What the hell happened here?”, he asked, shocked. “I assaulted this man in an outburst. I’ll accept whatever punishment is necessary.”, Wolf answered. The medic took a look at Wolf’s name tag and rank insignia. Then he concluded: “This is a case for the brass. Bring him to the brig for now.” Wolf just nodded. It was what he had expected.

While he walked, he checked on Lyra. Her mind was filled with a flood of conflicting emotions. Fear, anger, relief, guilt, confusion. She was sitting in a corner of her room. Curled into a ball, naked, she was crying. Griper’s unconscious body lay in front of her, bleeding. He tried to convince her to call a medic. She was too upset right now. But she could the sense in his suggestion. When she had calmed down enough to do it, Wolf was already sitting in the brig, waiting for judgment. He stared at the blank walls, watching Lyra’s actions through her eyes. She managed to give call the medics via radio without her voice faltering. Wolf was impressed.

She sat down on her bed, hugging her knees, still trembling. The medics came and helped Griper. One shortly checked if Lyra was unharmed. Then she was left alone. But some of the males did use the chance to ogle. None of them had the idea to tell her to dress herself. Their cold attitude and the leering made it even worse for Lyra. She tried to hold back her tears. Crying was probably not something she was supposed to do.

And that was when Wolf decided it was enough. He had to get her away from there. Away from the surveillance. Away from people with power over her. To a place where she could be herself. Where she would no longer be abused. For that, he had to get out of the brig. But he had already several ideas for that. All that remained was to wait for the brass to show up. They took their time. Wolf waited patiently.

Ten minutes later, a cleaning lady entered Lyra’s room. She mopped up the bloodstains. But beforehand, she looked Lyra. And said: “Put on some clothes, dear. You’ll catch a cold.” Lyra would have nearly hugged the old woman in relief. She quickly slipped back into her dress. The old woman cleaned the floor meticulously. Lyra just watched. From a corner, the old lady pulled out the full condom. She looked somewhat surprised. “Oh dear. Did he …” Lyra nodded before she could remember herself. The woman did not seem to find it suspicious. Cracking a sad smile, she answered: “Well, looks like you gave him a what-for. That’s how you should deal with men. Pigs, all of them. But don’t tell anyone I told you that.”

Finally, someone came for Wolf. Matt Horner entered the cell, followed by a marine. No trace of Raynor of Tosh. The Captain was furious, and worried. “You just had to wait that long to crack, had you?”, he shouted, “And of course we believed Tosh when he told us you were clean. Now he tricked us into releasing his criminally insane friends, and it’s too late to pull out.” Wolf managed to make the connection. The Hyperion was orbiting over New Folsom. Gabriel Tosh had sometimes mentioned his plan. It was what he had contacted the Raiders for: To help him break out the remaining Shadowblade Spectres. Raynor had wanted proof that the Spectres weren’t dangerous. Wolf had been that proof. And now they were already fighting the Dominion, and couldn’t pull out.

“You are mistaken”, Wolf corrected the fuming Captain, “my outburst is not a product of the Spectre enhancement. It is caused by the modification the Protoss made to my mind. Tosh has not lied to you.” Horner snorted. “The medics are right now stitching up the barely-living proof that he was wrong about you. If you’re lucky, you’ll get out of this with a demotion. If it were up to me, I’d give you a dishonorable discharge out of the nearest airlock.”

“I need to leave the Raiders.”, Wolf announced. He didn’t bother commenting on the rant. “What for? That you can report back to your new Protoss masters that planting a sleeper agent failed?” “To fix this.”, Wolf shouted, angry. He jumped up from his bench. Horner did not step back. He managed to meet Wolf’s stare. “Like you ‘fixed’ airmann Millers? You’re a loose cannon, and you will stay in this brig until the Commander is back.” That was his last word. He turned around and walked out of the door.

Wolf sat down. “You will let me go.”, he stated when Horner was nearly out of the door. The Captain turned around again. “Why should I?”, he asked icily. His rage was gone. Wolf spoke calmly: “You have two choices. You can leave me alone in this brig. It has been designed badly, and I have been trained in entering and leaving places I’m not supposed to. Within half an hour, I could be anywhere. You cannot hold me and I will take what I need. The other option is that you let me out, give me my belongings and a shuttle flight to the nearest place with public transport. There, I’ll leave, and never return. What I do will no longer by your responsibility.”

“Are you threatening me? From inside a cell?”, Horner asked, not believing his ears. “I’m not yet threatening. I offered you a choice between two possibilities with the same outcome.”The Captain was getting unnerved by Wolf’s smile. “And assuming that I do let you free, how do you suppose I’ll tell that to Jim?” Wolf shrugged. “Informing him that I have left on a personal mission to harm the Dominion should be less disastrous for his mood than informing him that a trained assassin is loose on the ship.” “And what do you demand?”, Horner asked, giving in. Wolf went through his mental list: “My gun, my money, my clothes and some notes from my room. And transport to the nearest starport.” 


	8. Williams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll find this chapter considerably more verbose than the last ones, as Williams uses my natural narrative style. That results in me churning out the words extremely quickly without noticing how the chapter gets longer and longer. Good for NaNo, not so good for developing my characters. Well, I'll just have to force myself to be more elaborate with the other viewpoints as well.
> 
> I was too lazy for the pdf link today, but I think you got the message by now. My beta-reader, who's a bit more savvy with TeX than I am has restructured some things, as well as forced me to correct some wordings. I'll update the html version when I find time.

Williams looked over the report he had compiled. It was full of technical diagrams, engineering terms and formulas, so most likely the council would only skim over it and ignore what he was trying to say. If there’s been an easier way to prove his point, he’d have chosen it, but the implant telemetry was all he had, and that was as helpful as a bullet made of wet tissue. But he had gotten to the data in the end, with a lot of guessing, and he would make the council listen. He’d read out the whole damn list, every single date on which Griper had been doing his “stress relief”.

It the irony of the universe that Griper had been able to stay undetected for so long _because_ he’d been treating Lyra like a more flexible inflatable puppet. Had he been a gentler lover, Lyra would have had orgasms, and those would have been very noticeable in her brain activity. But trying to find someone just causing her pain was hard work, since the implants didn’t measure hormonal activity. The only key had been that the control was lessened under adrenaline influence, so he had to look through the weeks of data for points where her awareness increased, and then remove everything that was caused by other activities that increasing her adrenaline level.

He placed the report on the ‘Out’ rack and moved on to the next task. His job as senior engineer of the Academy involved more paperwork than he thought was healthy. It had been over a month since he had last been in contact with technology under construction, and even longer since the last time he had actually done some honest engineering himself. But someone had to deal with all the bureaucratic fallout, and since it happened to be Williams, he had decided to do a good job. This way, he might not have the pleasure of tinkering, but he could be content in the knowledge that others could because of his work.

The next item in his ‘In’ rack was an automated report fresh from the printer, from the IT department. In Williams opinion, the whole department worked very hard on being lazy, given the amount of automation they had. He skimmed over most of it, as he could trust them to have dealt with minor troubles like wireless nodes shorting out. He did pay attention to the small item on the bottom of the list, the only entry in the category ‘Security Network’. It read: “1632,21 6893: Security Node 6260 did not respond to routine pings for two clock intervals. Automated diagnosis did not find any anomalies.”

Williams drummed his fingers on the desk. He made a note to talk to the IT people about that. No matter how minor the anomalies were, they were supposed to be reported to higher-ups immediately. The Academy was a bit paranoid about infiltration, and since they leading experts of getting into places without anyone noticing were inside the building, they knew how much dangerous code could be injected into a node within two cycles, and how you could get an army inside the secure area with that. To calm that paranoia, the council has issued a zero-tolerance policy concerning faults in the security network. A defect camera was enough to send the entire building into high alert.

Personally, Williams thought that was a bit over the top, but regulations were regulations. Still, two clock cycles were less than five seconds, and the diagnosis software was good. There was most likely no cause for concern, and since the incident was less than an hour before leisure time, he was willing to cut them some slack. He put the report and the note on the ‘Out’ rack.

His clock beeped. Normally it did that at the end of his work day, but for today he had set it to chime half an hour early. He glanced at the few sheets of paper still lying in the ‘In’ rack, and decided that none of them were so crucial that he couldn’t deal with them tomorrow. This half hour would be dedicated to the job he had chosen himself, on top of all his other duties. He had made a promise, and he would keep it, no matter how trivial or pointless it seemed.

He locked his office and took the elevator down some floors, to the apartment levels, although the term was a blatant euphemism, every Ghost only owning a room smaller than a prison cell, with about as much privacy. The place didn’t feel inhabited either, the walls a sterile white, the floors clean, and, most importantly, too few sounds. There was not much laughter, and even less to laugh about. The strict rules forbade fraternization and camaraderie, so the only conversation two Ghosts usually shared was a brief greeting when meeting in a corridor.

His communicator beeped, shortly before he had reached his destination. Sighing, he picked up the call, since his shift was technically not yet over. It was one of his assistants, and she sounded worried: “Mr. Williams, I something you might want to see. I’ve been re-evaluating the implant data for 51413 as part of the annual performance check, and —” Williams did not bother to listen to her evaluation, he knew what the problem was. He had caused it himself. “Can you compile it into a report and put it on my desk? I’m busy right now, IT has let another security hiccup remain unreported.” “Really? I thought you told them like two times already that their automated diagnosis didn’t count as all-clear.” Williams chuckled. “Three times. But you know how they are with automation. I swear, one day I’ll go down there and find only adjutants to talk to. I’ll call you back.” He switched off the communicator and put it back in his pocket.

He had to find a more permanent solution to his current makeshift hiding of the fact that Lyra’s implants were switched off. For now, every remote access readout command was routed through his computer, which returned the data from before that mission. It would fool simple checks, but his overenthusiastic assistant had probably run some more sophisticated data analysis, where things like that would be revealed pretty quickly. But Williams couldn’t bring himself to reactivate the implants again. The first time he had taken her free will, it had nearly broken his heart. He couldn’t manage a second time.

He had expected Lyra to change with her implants off, but there had been no sign of any independent behavior. She had just continued as usual, obeying orders. But Williams did not want give up hope. When he had asked her to give her a report about the ill-fated mission, because there had been no video feed or audio report in her equipment, she had sometimes sounded a bit uncertain. It might just have been his imagination, but then again her sudden assault of Griper suggested that there was something different with her.

There was Lyras door. 51413. He hated those numbers. They exemplified everything that was wrong about the treatment of Ghosts. Persons were reduced to numbers, to things that one could waste for some pointless cause or another, with no regard for their lives or feelings. And he hated himself for being a cog in this machine of death and dehumanization.

Without anyone knowing, Williams had visited Lyra regularly after he had built her implants. It was part of his promise to be there for her and to watch out for her. He had organized things so that she would be cared for, mostly past the brass. The military types had never really thought about how disabled Lyra really was. Without William’s agreement with the cleaning ladies, there wouldn’t be any new clothes for Lyra, and no one would cut her hair. But the wrinkled women had apparently taken a liking to the Ghost, and had been really helpful when the old engineer had found out.

The visits were also to make himself feel better. He talked to her about whatever was on his mind. Not that she was answering, or even showing interest, but he still felt freer after telling her things, more than he did after the compulsory psych evaluations by the Academy’s psychiatrist.

He opened the door and found Lyra lying on her bed, her back turned towards the door. She was wearing a green dress that looked new, maybe as replacement for the one that had gotten stained when she had beaten up Griper. “Hello, Grasshopper.”, he greeted her, using the nickname she had told him on the evening before the final surgery that had taken away her free will for what he thought would be forever. Despite the fact that she was a full-grown woman now, Williams still saw in her the small and scrawny girl she had been back then, with her forceful personality and blunt honesty.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he began to stroke her hair. He was not sure if she was awake, but it did not actually matter much. “Griper is going to be tried for unbecoming behavior.”, he began, choosing the topic that had been on his mind for days, and he guessed would interest her, too, “But I don’t think they’re going to go the whole way and terminate him. He’s too valuable, and has proven useful, so I guess they’ll settle on demotion and memory wipe. I don’t think he deserves that. There should be no second chances for people like him.” He chuckled. “Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped beating him that soon.”

Williams was silent for a moment. Lyra was shaking slightly, and as he bend over to see her face, he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why are you crying?”, he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear an answer. In response, her silent crying turned into loud sobbing. “Let it out.”, he whispered and took her in his arms, kneeling in front of the bed. She returned the hug, burying her face in his shoulder, a waterfall of tears running down her face. “Just let it out.”, Williams repeated, patting her back and holding her trembling body. It was as if some internal dam had burst, and all the pent-up tears of the years of servitude were now coming out all at once.

After what seemed like several minutes, Lyra seemed to calm down. While she was still crying, it was silent now, except for a bit of snuffling, and the rate with which William’s shoulder got wetter seemed less. He just continued to kneel there, hugging her, making calming noises, hoping that it helped. It took some more time, but Lyra seemed to have exhausted her tears, and felt better now. She placed her chin on his shoulder and hugged him tighter, as if she was thanking him.

Then she suddenly froze. Her body got tense, and her breath had a hissing component. The hair on William’s neck stood on end, and he carefully risked a glance behind his back. What he saw made him let go of Lyra immediately and turn around. There was someone else in the room, a Ghost clad in full armor, colored black, with red accents and golden armor plates. His face was hidden behind the helmet, but Williams knew that color scheme. There was only one person in the Academy who used it.

“Griper”, Williams hissed, using the word like an insult, “Come for a last fuck, have you? Or are you so brain-dead to want revenge?” The Ghost, who had been looking at Lyra, shifted his focus on the engineer. Instead of answering, he pulled a revolver out of the holster on his hip and aimed it with one hand at William’s head. “You don’t dare!”, Williams warned. “Step away from her.”, the Ghost ordered, sounding rather calm and composed for someone who had a weapon aimed at a colleague.

Williams shook his head. “I won’t let you get away with this.”, he announced defiantly at the helmeted figure, which did not repeat its request. Instead, he just aimed the revolver slightly sideways, at Lyra, who seemed to be still frozen in fear or hatred, her hands grabbing the edge of her mattress, the knuckles white. “No!”, Williams shouted. He stood up and walked sideways, his hands raised. The muzzle of the revolver swiveled around again, pointing at him. “Sit down.”, the Ghost ordered, pointing to a chair standing next to a wall. Reluctantly, the engineer did so, under his breath praying that the madman did not threaten Lyra again.

Unnoticed by Griper, Lyra had begun moving, one of her hands slipping down the gap between mattress and wall, and retrieving a thin white blade. It was the Hydralisk scythe she had brought back from her mission with Griper, which Williams had forgotten as she had never brought it along anywhere afterward. Williams looked back at the black-clad man as not to give Lyra away by gazing in her direction. The man did not seem to have noticed the glance over to her.

Then, Lyra struck, bringing down the blade in a wide arc on the man’s wrist. That was at least how it started. What followed happened so fast that Williams could not follow. Later, he tried to replay the scene step by step, and what he could remember went approximately like this: Before Lyra had even started her strike, the man had thrown the revolver upwards with a quick flip of the wrist, then moved the hand backwards just far enough not to get his fingers cut off.

As the blade went past his fingertips, he ducked under Lyra, threw her over his back while grabbing the blade with his left hand, and somehow giving it back to her as she landed on the other side of him, with her right held outstretched by his right arm, and his left keeping her upright. The pistol finished its flight and landed in Lyra’s hand, her fingers curling around the trigger by reflex. The weapon was still aimed at Williams. And as he looked past the barrel and into Lyra’s eyes, Williams saw fear. Griper could order her to pull the trigger, make _her_ kill Williams. Until now, he had felt intimidated by the weapon, but now, Williams was petrified with fear. In that moment of heightened awareness that followed such fear, Williams noted that the revolver had two barrels, one set in the center of the cylinder.

And then, the situation was suddenly relaxed. The man took his left hand of Lyra’s belly and carefully pried the revolver out of her fingers. The two Ghost stepped apart and faced each other, Lyra glaring angrily. The man took off his helmet and put it on her bed, shaking his head to dislodge the helmet hair. When he righted himself again, Lyra slapped him across the face as hard as she could. “Don’t ever do that again!”, she warned him. The man just grinned and answered: “No promises.”

He turned towards Williams, who had been a bit shocked by the sudden turn of events. That wasn’t Griper. Inside Griper’s armor was a young man, about Lyra’s age, with black hair in a short, messy soldier’s hairstyle, the pale complexion of someone born in northern latitudes and having lived under artificial light ever since and a rather angular face, dominated by a pair of steel-gray eyes. His gaze had a penetrative quality, as if he was not looking at you, but inside you, examining your mind and your soul. The stare seemed to be in stark contrast to his mouth, which was smiling, as if he was just remembering something funny. But there was this hidden edge in his expression that gave Williams’ gut the feeling that this man would gun him down without any hesitation, while wearing the same smile.

“You’re not Griper.”, Williams noted, still baffled. “That is correct”, the man answered, holstering his pistol with one hand and taking off his backpack with the other, handing it to Lyra who looked a bit disgruntled for a moment, but took it without comment. “I am Wolf.”, the Ghost announced, and Williams knew immediately that the introduction would always sound like this, the name never prefaced with phrases like “My name is …” or “I am called …”.

Behind Wolf, Lyra slipped out of her dress. Williams was impressed with the mans strength of will. His eyes did not dart sideways for a second, despite the woman standing there in her underwear, pulling a Ghost suit out of the backpack, the optional armor plates falling on the floor. Williams was puzzled about Lyra’s actions, the sudden switch from attacking Wolf to apparently knowing what he wanted from her without a word completely unfathomable to him.

“You will come with us.”, Wolf announced, clearly not taking No for an answer. “Why should I?”, Williams asked defiantly, standing up. Wolf placed one hand on his revolver. “Because you have no choice. Now hand me your communicator.” The engineer complied, mostly out of fear the man might point his weapon at Lyra again. He had expected the Ghost to smash the thing or otherwise break it, but he just took out the battery and threw both on Lyra’s bed.

Lyra had finished dressing herself, including the armor plates. She was only wearing the tactical goggles, the helmet remaining in the backpack. Williams was surprised how much Wolf had managed to fit in there, including Lyra’s C-10. She stuffed her dress and some other clothes into the pack, plus her scythe. Wolf put on his helmet again. And then they seemed ready to leave, Wolf grabbing Williams by the upper arm and dragging him along. “Walk between us and don’t try anything.”, he hissed and shouldered the backpack.

They set off through the corridors of the Academy, apparently having a definite destination in mind, although again Williams had no idea how the two had coordinated themselves nonverbally.”Let me lay down some ground rules for getting us out of here.”, Wolf began, “Number one: _Never_ hesitate. Do not slow down, do not let anyone slow you down.” He brushed past another Ghost who happened to be in the corridor, shoving the person out of the way. While the startled man shouted an insult after them, Wolf continued: “Number two: If someone tries to stop you, get angry. They are wrong.”

They took the stairs up several levels, keeping up a quick pace the whole time, slightly too fast for Williams taste, who had shorter legs as both rather the lanky built Ghosts escorting him. “Number three: When you are angry, do not raise your voice. Become polite. It unnerves people.” They reached an elevator that Williams didn’t recognize at first, not very often being in this part of the Academy, which housed the armory, the hospital and several ready rooms, being basically the staging area for all operations. That’d mean the elevator would lead outside, possibly to a starport.

When Williams saw the keypad next to the door, he remembered. This led to one of the high-security hangars with black project tech, not accessible without clearance approved from the top, and only used when there was no chance the tech could fall into enemy hands. Even Williams didn’t know what exactly was in there, and he was the one signing the repair bills. He felt a bit smug when Wolf looked at the keypad and apparently was out of ideas. To get these codes, he’d have needed to interrogate a pilot, and even that would haven’t helped much, given that their memories were wiped every time they used the access codes. Additionally, they were changed every month.

It proved an obstacle for a mere five seconds, the time Lyra needed to push Wolf out of the way and enter a code. The door opened, revealing a small elevator with only two buttons for the destination levels. “How did you …?”, Williams asked, surprised, while Wolf dragged him into the cramped lift. “The pilot entered it on my last mission.”, Lyra answered, “Sorry, but I’ve been trained to recognize and remember access codes people enter.” She smiled at him apologetically.

Williams nearly slapped himself. He was wally. Of course she’d remember. Her inhibitors were offline, and he had spared her the trauma of a memory wipe when he had discovered that. In hindsight, it was yet another secret that’d most likely cost him his job and possibly his life. Should Lyra leave the base, all the lies he had spun would crash down over him.

“Interesting sidearm you got me there.”, Lyra commented to pass the time the elevator needed to reach the surface. She pulled the rather rectangular pistol out of her holster and inspected it. The lights on her suit changed to indicate that the pistol had been recognized and that aim stabilizer and recoil absorption were tuned to it. “Gauss pistol”, Wolf explained, “got it on my detour through the lab wing. Completely silent, except for supersonic boom. Stopping power like an Ultralisk at full speed. Don’t try to fire without the suit, it’ll break your hand.”

Williams tried to place Wolf’s accent. It wasn’t from a Confederacy world, that seemed certain, but it also lacked the slurring and vowel-merging of a fringe world. Possibly Umojan. That was atypical, as the Umojan intelligence service was very good at letting every talented psionic disappear before the Dominion had the chance to invoke the treaty that obliged every Terran government to send psionically gifted children to the Ghost Academy. The result was that every Umojan recruit had so far died in the first two years of training.

“Thanks”, Lyra murmured, holstering the weapon again. Her gratitude didn’t seem to be directed at the equipment, and suddenly the pieces fell into place. Wolf’s Protectorate accent, the fact that Williams didn’t recognize him, why Wolf was wearing another Ghosts suit. He wasn’t actually from the Academy. And that meant there was only cause that would make him enter the place. “You’re here to get Lyra out?”, Williams asked, immediately wondering how she had managed to contact the Umojans, and what gain they saw in retrieving a single Ghost from the den of the lion. Wolf just nodded, not bothering to explain more.

The elevator stopped, letting them out on the edge of a rather small starport, consisting of twelve hangars, built in a three times four rectangle, each only large enough for a single two-pilot craft. Williams had never before been up here, was not supposed to ever be up here. Another rule-breaking that could cost him his life. “You’ve got to take me with you.”, he announced. That didn’t seem to surprise Wolf. “I know.”, the tall man just said and continued walking, “You’ve been part of the plan since Lyra remembered you.”

Williams stopped where he stood. “Right, stop that. If you want my cooperation, you’ll have to explain things to me. I can’t trust you and your need-to-know approach.” Wolf just grabbed his arm and dragged him along, muttering: “Rule number one, mate. We do not have time for explanations.” Williams tried to resist, but Wolf had a grip like steel. “So you’re going the ‘It’ll all explained later’ route?”, he complained, feeling a bit childish, “because I’m not sure there will be a later if you go on like this.” “No, I’m not going that route. You seem to be fine with figuring things out yourself.” He let go of Williams.

“Just go with it”, Lyra told him as she walked a bit faster to take the lead, “I can explain. But he’s right, at the moment we have to move fast.” She led the two towards one of the hangars, again gaining entry by entering the right code. Williams mused how many secrets were locked in her head, overheard because no one suspected she’d ever regain free will. Inside the building was a single Quantradyne dropship. It had a sleek, modern design, with a rather unmemorable paint job. No Dominion roundel anywhere, either, just a name painted in small letters under the cockpit window: _Nonexistent XI_.

Lyra suddenly made a turn and walked over to the small control room at the side of the hangar. When Williams wanted to follow, Wolf grabbed his arm again and kept him walking towards the ship. “She’s doing her part, and it’s time you do yours.”, he announced, unlocking the ship with a third code. Either Wolf was some kind of clairvoyant or Dominion security systems were a lot less secure than everyone thought, if an Umojan agent could unlock a black project spacecraft on the first try.

Wolf took off the helmet as he entered the ship, placing it on a bench in the cargo compartment together with his backpack before entering the cockpit. He sat down on the pilot seat and ordered Williams to take the co-pilot place. Williams sat down carefully, if only because he didn’t want to stand. The Ghost ignored him for now, powering up the aircraft with a few button presses, indicating he had been flying something like that before. Through the cockpit window, one could see how the hangar roof was opening slowly, most likely Lyra’s work.

A headset landed in William’s lap. He put it on, curious, and pulled it off rapidly as he heard what came out of the speakers. The tower was hailing them, complaining about the unscheduled takeoff. “You’re going to get us all killed!”, Williams hissed, trying to keep his voice down so the microphone wouldn’t reveal them. “Just keep them talking. I’ve got it all figured out.”, the man answered and pressed the button to close the rear hatch. For a moment Williams feared that he had left Lyra outside, but a glance backwards revealed that she was sitting in the cargo compartment, staring at nothing.

“This is madness!”, he shouted at the Ghost, who continued with liftoff operations. “Only if you don’t get talking. In thirty seconds, they’ll have their missile batteries locked in on us. Unless you have got them busy talking by that point, Lyra will die.” After a moment of thinking, he added as unimportant afterthought: “You and me as well, of course.” Williams was nearly ready to punch Wolf senseless. They way he kept threatening him with Lyra’s death, plus that damned knowing smile and the annoying fact that he was right the whole time was driving him crazy. He put on the headset again.

“…this is Tower. We are observing an unscheduled liftoff procedure. Please confirm and identify.” Williams was about to open his mouth to answer, when a hand with a grip like steel closed around his throat. “Rule four: _Never_ apologize. Grow a backbone.”, Wolf hissed, then released the engineer’s throat again to get back to getting the Nonexistent flying. It was amazing how silent the ship ran.

Setting the radio to send, Williams formulated an apology-free response: “This is Chief Warrant Officer Williams. The pilot reported irregularities during the last flight, and I need to get a performance readout to locate the problem.” The dropship was rising into the air, leaving the protection of the hangar walls. The air defenses had a clear line of fire now. “We have not been informed of any test flights today.”, Tower answered. Williams tried to remember rules two and three. Being polite, with an edge in his voice, that was the trick. He answered: “I assure you that I have filled out all necessary paperwork. I cannot be blamed for any delays that might have occurred in the transfer of files between departments.” “The regulations do not allow flights to take place until the applications have been returned as approved. Please return to the hangar and and power down the ship.”

Wolf was accelerating the ship. This was now the moment of truth. Williams had to keep them talking. “Look, I’ll gladly help you sort out what went wrong with the paperwork once I’m back. But I’d like to finish this flight before my shift is —” There was a feeling of stretchedness, and the view outside the window turned into a mess off stripes that stayed for a couple of seconds before it gave way to the vista of a star field. Wolf had activated a Warp jump, at the minimally possible speed, and within the atmosphere. That could have gone wrong easily, but apparently he knew what he was doing.

“That’s your plan?”, Williams barked at him, not feeling well after the jump, “You realize they can follow Warp jumps, especially reckless ones like that?” Wolf just grinned, and answered: “I’d like to see them try. Because that’ll mean they’re parking a battlecruiser right on top of a major shipping line.” Another glance out of the windows revealed that a line of pinpoints of light was moving over the firmament. Wolf was steering directly at it. Williams slumped back into his chair, pulling the headset off. “I’m not taking back my assessment of you being a madman”, he admitted, “but you’re a madman with a plan. I have to give you that.” Wolf just smiled and concentrated on the consoles.

“We’re free?”, Lyra asked from the door. Williams hadn’t heard her come close, but that was hardly surprising. Wolf just nodded. Lyra was breathing in heavily. She sounded as if she was about to start crying again. “I need some time alone”, she said, and then added sharply: “And I mean _alone_.” That last part had been directed at Wolf, although it was not clear to Williams what she had meant. She disappeared into the cargo compartment again. Wolf had not answered in any way, or showed that he cared. He was still smiling slyly.

Williams stood up and went after Lyra, concerned about her well-being. Wolf didn’t stop him as he walked out of the cockpit door. Lyra sat forlornly on the benches at the side of the cargo compartment, hugging her knees. He took the seat next to her and stroked her hair. In response, she unfolded and hugged him tightly, fighting back the tears. “Thank you”, she whispered, “for being here. Coming with us.” Williams returned the hug. “I promised to be there for you, always.” And as he said it, Williams felt how true these words were. It hadn’t been a sense of duty or a the fear of death that had kept him in the Academy for the last years. It had been Lyra, and the promise he had made.

She laid down, her head on his lap, Williams continuing to stroke her hair. “I will do my best to protect you”, he repeated his promise, “even from Wolf.” “He’s not a bad man”, she objected, “just not very good at showing it. He cares about people, deep down. But he doesn’t realize when he hurts them to help them.” Williams found that hard to believe. “How do you know that. How do you know him at all?” Lyra turned around to look into his face. “I’ve promised you an explanation. The report I gave about the last mission, it was … inaccurate. I omitted thing. Lots of things.” She retold the story, this time without gaps. Williams listened, not sure if he could believe what he heard, but Lyra seemed to be completely serious. If so, he felt sorry for Lyra. Having to share her head with someone like Wolf had to be difficult. 


	9. Lyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous version, I had this chapter written from Williams' point of view, which worked quite well, but again broke the rule of changing POV after every chapter, so I decided to switch to Lyra this time, doubting it'd work, but I think it came out rather nicely, with a bit foreshadowing and a bit deeper characterization for her.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Discworld, Lancre and the concept of bakery with Mohs hardness greater than five belong to Terry Pratchett.

They made another Warp jump half an hour later, not only to confuse pursuers, but also because they needed something from the destination, Kenn’s interstellar mall, an orbital station dedicated to provide a unique shopping experience at reasonable prices, or at least that was claimed — if there’d been a better alternative, Wolf would have chosen it, but he couldn’t risk entering planetary orbits within the Dominion, as they would have been registered and made to present identification, leaving a trail for the Dominion to follow, while Kenn’s, although with its orbit around Dylar IV technically in Dominion space, kept its passenger reports secret, plus there was what Wolf mentally referred to as the defied expectation, that no one would consider a wanted fugitive to shop in a luxury mall less than an hour after pulling off a perfect breakout.

Williams did not know any of this until Wolf came through the cockpit door, announcing that they were in docking approach to the station and that he would get some shut-eye while they’d go and buy what was needed, so Williams of course asked what the Spectre meant by that while Wolf laid down on the bench, making himself comfortable while he counted some items on his fingers: “Well, you left at the end of the day, so I think you can guess much: Hygienic articles, like toothbrushes, shaving gear, shampoo, towels … then you need new clothes, and Lyra probably as well. I’ll get some for myself when I’m awake. We’re not going to stay on the run for long, so no need for food. Use your imagination for the blanks.”

The ship shuddered slightly as the docking clamps fixed it in place, while Lyra quickly changed out of her Ghost suit back into the dress, as she would stand out a lot less in the crowd like that, while Williams in the meantime was asking about money, as an answer to which Lyra handed him Wolf’s wallet that he had kept in the backpack and that was bulging from the amount of cash in there. “Oh, you’ll need to pay docking fees.”, Wolf announced, his eyes already closed, “But I registered the ship on your name, so there shouldn’t be any trouble.”

Although Williams had his mind shielded well, his face showed very clearly what he thought of Wolf and his way to steamroll over people with already made decisions, and the engineer stepped rather reluctantly in front of the machine dispensing docking tickets for ships, musing over the amount of time he’d need to pay for. “How long do you think he’ll sleep?”, he asked Lyra, who answered truthfully: “He’s a light sleeper. But he has not planned to leave immediately after waking.” “Half a day it is then.”, Williams decided, flipped open Wolf’s wallet and went nearly googly-eyed. “That’s several thousand credits!”, he exclaimed astonished, “Has the man never heard of pick-pockets?” “He has”, Lyra corrected, “but he’s a telepath. He notices such things.” “Still, that’s a bit too much to carry around at once. We’ll use my wallet and put this back in the backpack.”

When the machine had accepted the payment and allowed their dropship to stay in the docks for half a day, they left for the elevator that’d bring them to the highest level of the mall, as Kenn’s had been built as a Stanford torus with a spindle in the middle that served as docking space and was the only part with artificial gravity, which meant the elevators made a ninety degree turn in the center of the torus and opened to the uppermost floor of the station.

As they rode the elevator downwards, Williams looked at Lyra sideways and then said: “Give me the backpack.” “It’s not that heavy.”, Lyra protested, thinking he was trying to be overly helpful to her, but he countered: “You look strange with a dress and a military backpack on top. It’ll catch less attention if I’m wearing it, my shirt is basically a uniform anyway.” She handed over the backpack, but asked out of interest: “Why does it look strange?” Williams didn’t answer for a while, thinking, probably about how to formulate something that seemed obvious to himself. “Look”, he began, “a dress is something relaxed. People will think of you as harmless with that. But a backpack is something a soldier wears. That doesn’t fit together, and people notice such things.” Lyra thought about that, as she hadn’t really considered the differences in clothes before, they were just something she wore when not in the suit.

The elevator doors opened, and Lyra was stunned by the size of the mall — she’d seen huge rooms before, even ones larger, but this place had made an effort to appear huge and to impress, with glass bridges between the floors, and light everywhere, and a vista down to the lowest level, and the people walking around everywhere, a crowd larger than any Lyra had seen before, a multitude of thoughts, opinions, hopes, fears and dreams, her mind no longer able to discern individual thought patterns from the strong background.

As she leaned over the railing to get a better look downwards, Williams asked: “What do you think?” Lyra bit her lip and tried to formulate an answer, but given that she couldn’t know what he wanted, with his mind shielded, and that there so many things she wasn’t sure were appropriate to say, she decided to begin from a neutral standpoint: “It’s a dangerous place. One could snipe from the upper levels — taking into account the Coriolis force of course — or create a mass panic with a single explosive. The hull doesn’t seem to be particularly reinforced, either. One hit, from either side, and the whole station would be evacuated.”

Williams looked disappointed, although it was difficult to read his expression sometimes with his mouth hidden by the bushy mustache, and shyly she asked: “That wasn’t what you wanted to hear.” He sighed, and answered sadly, while beginning to walk along the shop front: “I’m not sure what I wanted to hear, but that wasn’t it. I’d hoped you could see more than just death in a place like this.” She followed him, quickly trying to mitigate her initial response: “I’m seeing more than just that, but I don’t know enough about …”, she quickly pulled a few words about of Wolf’s mind that seemed relevant to the discussion, “ architectural aesthetics, or consumerism, or orbital engineering to know what I’m talking about.” That got a head-shaking from Williams, who suggested: “You don’t need to know about these things to have an opinion. A place like this, it evokes emotion. Just tell me about those.”

“I don’t know”, she admitted, “there might be some, but I think most of what I feel is from the people around us. I know it’s just the emotion reading, but it still feels … real. Appropriate for this place.” Williams led her to an escalator to the lower levels, while apparently thinking about what she said, then asking: “Well, what is it you feel, then?” Lyra allowed herself to be drawn a bit deeper into the emotional background the people around her projected, and then announced: “I want to go shopping!”, somewhat more cheerful than she personally thought appropriate, so she toned it down a bit again, “And discover what’s for sale. Maybe buy some interesting things. Without spending money on useless stuff, of course.” The last one made Williams smile, and he commented: “This place does get to you, doesn’t it? Well, as long as you stay yourself, who am I to tell you what to do?”

They left the escalator at the lowest level and went into a larger general store, where Williams bought the hygiene articles Wolf mentioned, plus some towels that were currently on sale, as well as some canned food. “Wolf told you not to buy food.”, she objected, but Williams put the items in his backpack nonetheless, claiming: “I don’t trust Wolf’s planning. He’s good, but I don’t think he accounted for everything —” “He does”, Lyra commented quietly, Williams continuing without a reaction: “— so it’s better to be prepared. The stuff lasts for a while, so even if we can’t use it in the next days while following his ‘plan’, it’s a reserve for the future.”

With that the discussion was over for him, and he went on to buy some bottles of water, and then pondered for a moment over the selection of sweets and snacks. “What sort of cookies do you think Wolf likes?”, he asked, from the phrasing of the question apparently having forgotten Lyra’s connection to him, but she answered as best she could: “Military-style biscuits, the longer-lasting the better. He uses the term ‘Lancre Mint’, if that means anything to you.” Williams looked disbelieving, and voiced his opinion quickly: “It doesn’t. I know he’s a strict soldier type, but you can’t tell me he likes those pieces of concrete. He has to have some preference.”

“It’s … difficult. He does like some things, but for others …”, Lyra began to stammer, trying to make sense of Wolf’s memories, which was thankfully easier now that he was asleep and wasn’t actively pushing her away from things, although there still seemed much locked that shouldn’t have been, “Sometimes he’s two minds about it, sometimes it’s like there’s no preference at all. I think he tries to forget something, and those things would remind him. He does not even let me into whatever he is burying in his mind.” “Didn’t you say you shared all memories?”, Williams asked, curious, and Lyra had to admit: “Technically yes. I think it’s meant to be all memories. But he’s strong. His mind is like his way with others — you know, when he tells you something, and you just have to obey, because it’s true? His mind is like that. He locks me out of these things, just like he locks himself out.”

They went to the checkout and waited in the rather long queue. “Is he actually asleep?”, Williams wanted to know, his tone of voice making clear who he meant. “Yes, mostly. He’s a really light sleeper.”, she answered after a moment of introspection, and Williams asked, interested in the details of their connection: “And the connection is still active? You can see what he dreams?” He placed the items on the conveyor belt while she answered: “Yes, although it’s probably not like you imagine. For me, it doesn’t feel real, I can always tell it’s just his mind making up things.” “Still, you can tell him what he dreamed about the next morning.” “Actually, no. We’re just sharing memories, not copying them. When he forgets the dream, I do as well.”, she corrected him while he paid for the items.

When everything was packed into the backpack, Williams shouldered it again and looked around, commenting: “Well, that covers almost everything, except clothing. I don’t think that will be a problem, malls like those are usually at least fifty percent clothing shops, so our only problem is to find one that sells something decent.” After a minute of surveying, he pointed at a larger story that seemed more serious as some she had seen on the way down, the mannequins dressed in a way that would have fitted in with what the real people were wearing.

“What do we need?”, she asked after they had entered the shop, a bit overwhelmed by the amount of things to see, including clothes she didn’t know the name for, even with Wolf’s help. “Well, some one everything, mostly. Shirts, trousers, maybe something warmer, then some underwear …” He apparently wasn’t really sure himself, so Lyra picked the last thing he had mentioned for no particular reason: “Let’s start with the underwear.” Williams looked a bit embarrassed and clueless, but pointed her in the right direction, and she quickly found the bras and looked over the large varieties offered, and picked up a rather frilly one with much lace she found interesting, which prompted the engineer to cough a very embarrassed cough. “I don’t think that’s appropriate”, he tried to explain, “you only wear that when you want people to see your underwear and … to take it off.” Some thoughts slipped passed his mind shield, maybe deliberately, and Lyra was immediately reminded of Griper and what he had done to her and dropped the thing.

“I think jogging bras might be better for what you’re doing.”, he suggested, pointing in that direction, and when Lyra went over to look at them, she had to agree, since those were the things she was used to get from the cleaning ladies, so she picked a few in colors that she liked, until Williams reminded her: “Make sure to take the right size.” She tried to find a hint for that in her memory, but came up blank. “I don’t think I know my size”, she admitted, and then remembered that it should be on the written somewhere on the bra she was wearing, so she began to take off the dress, but Williams interrupted her with a rather loud “Stop!”, followed by a more careful explanation: “You don’t need to take off your dress in front of everyone. There’s cabins for trying out clothes, you can do it there.” Again, he pointed her at the right direction.

She stepped into the cabin and stopped for a moment, surprised by her image in the mirror, as she hadn’t very often seen herself like this, and it somehow felt strange, but Williams had been right about changing clothes here, as there was no one watching except her mirror image, so she quickly stepped out of her dress and tried to find where on her bra the size was written, and to her disappointment she had to take it off, too, to be able to read the small tag on it backside, as the view of her without bra summoned some disturbing mental images of Griper, so she quickly read the thing and then dressed herself again.

The rest of the shopping trip was less disturbing for her and in many ways exciting, as she could enjoy choosing whatever she liked, with Williams readily following her when she wanted to look through the next shop when the offers she saw here weren’t for her liking, and as they had lot of free time, and there was such a large pool to choose from, she took her time deciding, trying on things and generally browsing through the offers — at one point, she found a T-shirt with a simple drawing of an Overlord printed on it, with large eyes and bright colors, and she showed it to Williams, asking: “Isn’t it cute?”

The old man looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think we should paint the Zerg as likeable. They’re monsters.” The comment crimped her euphoria a bit, but she objected: “I don’t see the harm in it.” “Imagine someone only knows the Zerg from T-shirts like this”, Williams explained, “and one day they invade his colony, and because he thinks the beasts are ‘cute’, he doesn’t run?” “But when the Zerg invade, his survival chances are pretty much zero anyway, no matter if he runs or not.”, she countered quietly, seeing that Williams wouldn’t want her to think like this, so she placed the thing back on the rack and continued elsewhere.

She was nearly finished when Wolf woke up, went down to the mall and bought some clothes for himself, then came to find them, deliberately walking silently when entering the shop, intending to scare Williams, so Lyra said aloud when he was close: “Don’t even think about it.” “You are aware, that I have, in fact, already thought about it.”, Wolf announced, standing closely behind Williams, who jerked and turned around when he heard the Spectre and became a black bag placed into his hands, the contents of equal color, Wolf disliking to wear anything more colorful than a midnight blue, while the engineer, who had made some purchases for himself at some point had chosen a wider range of colors, although generally rather desaturated.

“You can’t walk like a normal human being, can you?”, Williams complained, looking at Wolf’s shoes, which looked like normal heavy army boots but were actually part of his Ghost suit, which he was wearing hidden under the civilian clothes, an action that Lyra found strange, but intriguing, as the idea of having the suit’s abilities while not being seen as wearing it was interesting from a tactical standpoint when infiltrating something, although that certainly wasn’t why Wolf was wearing it now, he rather seemed to avoid being in everyday clothes just like he avoided other topics and objects.

She handed Wolf a pair of trousers to buy while she took some items out of William’s bags, explaining: “I’m going to wear some of that right now.” While she went to the cabin to change, Wolf bought the trousers and went back to Williams, explaining: “Don’t worry, that was the last thing.”, which made Lyra feel a bit guilty, as it implied that Williams had been unhappy and that she hadn’t noticed, leaving it to Wolf to be nice to the engineer, so when she stepped out of the cabin, dressed in a T-shirt and comfortable pants, she quickly apologized: “I’m sorry.” Williams looked clueless, then guessed correctly: “What? For taking your time deciding what to wear? You don’t have to feel sorry. I’m happy for you. It’s just that my arms are getting sore.”

“Good. I think we’ve got the time to eat something properly.”, Wolf announced, not commenting on William’s lament or offering to carry some of the bags, “I found a nice restaurant on the fourth floor. My treat.” While he left the shop to take the lead, Lyra went over to Williams and relieved him by taking most of the clothes bags off him, then followed Wolf who was moving forward at his usual speed, walking faster than most people would jog, leading them up some floors and along a large section of the station to a restaurant that didn’t look particularly impressive from the outside, but had a large dining room at the back which was separated from the vacuum of space only by a large glass window, which sure gave an impressing vista, but Lyra couldn’t shake the fear of the glass breaking and everyone being sucked out into the nothingness.

Wolf chose a table located close to the wall, and placed his chair so that he was sitting with his back to the wall, which would prevent anyone from moving up to him without being seen, and also gave him a good view over the whole restaurant, and Lyra sat down next to him, sharing his feelings about people sneaking up from behind, but she also tried to place herself in a way that would keep the glass window out of her sight, while Williams of course had no such troubles and just placed himself on the opposite side of the table, but moved himself a bit sideways when he found out that Wolf liked to stretch out his legs.

The waiter brought the menus and departed rather hastily, probably not very comfortable with Wolf constantly watching him carefully, and Lyra was too hungry to complain to Wolf about his way and just picked up a menu and began to read, just like Williams, who rather quickly decided on something, just like Wolf, who just threw one glance into the menu before closing it again and waited for Lyra to decide, who read through the whole list, never having heard many of the things on offer before, and for some of them not even Wolf’s memories could tell her what they were. _What are you having?_ , she asked Wolf, unable to decide for herself. _Aruan goulash. I don’t think you’d like it, the taste is …rich._ , he answered, his face not revealing once that he had been distracted.

In the end, she ordered a meat pie floater, mostly because of the funny name, but also because she could be reasonably sure that the food would taste well, since she knew all components it was made out of, while Williams ordered a medium steak australus with potatoes, and Wolf took the goulash, as he had said before.

After the waiter had disappeared again, Williams folded his hands and asked, with an ironic edge in his voice: “So, since you apparently plan for everything, Wolf, what have we planned next?” Wolf shrugged and answered briefly: “Fueling, then we make a call.” “Are you unable to answer a question properly at least once?”, Williams complained, and Lyra had to agree that the information the Spectre had given was less than helpful, and when Wolf just responded: “Yes.”, she snapped and tried to slap him mentally, which was apparently received as intended, although Wolf’s face of course did not stop smiling, or even moved at all, while he received it.

He pulled a small note out of his pocket, which looked rather worn around the edges, as if it had been in that pocket for some time and regularly taken out and reexamined, which he wordlessly handed to Williams, who unfolded it, and commented, after a minute of silent and careful inspection, including turning around the piece of paper: “I know that symbol. Moebius foundation. They’re the largest scientific organisation in the Korprulu sector. But that code? D - seventy-seven - O - B - D - one - one - nine - J – ehm …V?” “R.”, Wolf corrected, but didn’t explain any further, as the waiter arrived with their meals, and Wolf pulled the note out of Williams’ fingers and let it disappear in a pocket again before the waiter could see it.

Lyra took a spoonful of her soup and tasted it, finding it delicious, better than anything that had been served at the Academy, but before she could swallow, there was a sudden taste explosion in her mouth, of a heavy, meaty flavor that made her nearly spit out her soup in surprise, and it took her a minute to realized that it hadn’t been her food, but Wolf’s , who had taken the first bite of his goulash and apparently relished it, chewing for some time to get every bit of the complex flavor, and after a bite from his own steak, Williams asked, interested: “What exactly are you eating there, anyway?” “Aru Ox”, Wolf explained, more readily than usual, showing his love for the food, “one of the few species of the Korprulu sector they went through the trouble of domesticating, and it’s certainly something very different from the bland Earth meat.”

After a pause in which everyone was busy eating, although Lyra found it difficult to concentrate on her food with Wolf’s taste buds sending stronger signals that overrode her own, Williams got back to business: “So, what is the matter with Moebius, then? You can’t think they’re going to give us sanctuary, they’re heavily government-backed and considered loyal to the Dominion. They’d send us over to Mengsk, and from there we’d end up either in the Academy, with out minds wiped, or dead.” Wolf wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering: “A most accurate analysis, given your available data. Accurate, but wrong. A month ago, the Moebius foundation hired Raynor’s Raiders via an intermediary — who didn’t hide their involvement in any way — to ‘liberate’ a collection of alien artifacts from the current owners, which included the Dominion.”

Lyra used the time that Wolf was talking to eat some of her own food without getting distracted by that goulash, and only listened with half an ear since of course she already knew what Wolf was explaining. “Secondly, Moebius is hiring mercenaries. This is a fact widely known, but you failed to recognize its importance in your analysis. I do not intent to present us as fugitives to the foundation. We are mercenaries seeking a permanent employment. We have basic equipment, and a ship, and experience, and aren’t demanding high rates. They will not be able to resist an offer like this.”, Wolf summarized. “Not as fugitives.”, Williams repeated, a bit unbelieving, “So they’ll have twice as many reasons to distrust us and hand us over to the Dominion when they find out?”

Wolf just grinned, and continued his analysis: “Do focus. The Ghost Academy is a top secret project. There is only one way they’ll find out that I broke you out of the Academy, which is the Dominion telling them. That will expose that a place crawling with specialists dealing with infiltration and protected by one of the most sophisticated security systems ever devised can be circumvented by three people. He’d also have to admit that the Ghosts are still subjected to memory wipes and kept under dehumanizing conditions. Overall, Mengsk’d have to ruin his white vest quite thoroughly to get his hands on us. There’s a second option, which he’ll use. Moebius is under Dominion control, as you mentioned. In a way, by allowing us to get employed by the foundation, he gets us back under control.”

“You’re not worried about your sworn enemy controlling you?”, Williams asked, referring to Wolf’s position within the Raiders, but the Spectre deflected that criticism: “The chain of ‘command’ we’ll be on is long. There is much room to reinterpret orders. Also, you, like probably everyone, misunderstand the goals of the Raiders. Yes, we’re working to dethrone Mengsk. But our primary goal, the one we do not abandon in search for revenge, is to save lives. I’m willing to work for the Dominion if I am, overall, saving lives by doing so. The Zerg are out there, threatening innocents. There are forces within the Dominion that make living in it worse, while not answering to the Emperor. At some point, we have to sacrifice our ideals and be pragmatic about our goals.”

“Impressive speech”, Williams commented while cutting a piece off his steak, “but you still haven’t explained what that code is for.” “It’s a contact code.”, Wolf answered, apparently for the moment willing to share information, “I got it from the mind of the intermediary who is with the Raiders. We will use it to contact Moebius, because on one hand, we can be sure to get someone from a part not loyal to Mengsk this way, and on the other hand we can also subtly hint on the fact that we have their deal to the Raiders as blackmail material.”

“Fine.”, Williams admitted a bit grudgingly, seeing that he had no counterarguments to deconstruct Wolf’s idea, “But why not simply the Raiders? You are with them, why change allegiance now?” Wolf continued eating, explaining his point while chewing: “Because I am perfectly sure that they will take us. Returning to them will be the contingency plan.” He didn’t mention that he hadn’t left on the best of terms, or that he didn’t actually know where the Raiders were right now, or how to contact them, but Williams, who didn’t know that, found another point of criticism which he presented with a sarcastic voice: “Contingency? As in, when Mengsk has us locked up for desertion and treason, we ask the Raiders if the want us?” Wolf grinned, and said: “I do not intend to wait that long. Additionally, we three have once already escaped Dominion control, I have confidence we will succeed doing so a second time.” “We managed to trick and talk our way out of a place that wasn’t expecting desertion. It’s something different to go up against an army, boy.” “The difference is the speed at which one has to talk, nothing more.”

Williams shook his head, seeing that he couldn’t convince Wolf of the dangers of that plan, and then went into a completely different direction: “You might do that, but I will follow Lyra. If she agrees to this folly, then I’ll have to come along. If not, you’re on your own.” Since her opinion was now needed, Lyra explained her point of view on all this: “We’re all in this together. Wolf and I can’t go separate ways. And I trust his plan. It’s the only one we have.” Williams looked for a moment as if he wanted to object, but then nodded towards her slightly, and continued eating, as did she, and the rest of the meal was spent in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be as good a place as any to explain a bit about how I'm handling Wolf's quirk of quoting stuff on the fly (which you surely noticed). One of the problems with Science Fiction is of course that every pop culture reference you make is going to be five hundred years old. In that time, new memes and memorable phrases are going to spawn, but we can't really predict what they're going to be. The Future's youth might crack into laughter about the phrase "Not with the cat on the ceiling.", but of course that doesn't mean a thing to us.
> 
> Which makes it a bit awkward to create a 'geeky' character who does like to pepper his speech with his time's equivalent of "Ni!", because the readers wouldn't get it without an extra explanation, so the options would be to explain the phrases every time they come up, which sort of kills the joke, or to leave them unexplained, which turns them into non-sequiturs that the reader might misunderstand as crazyness. I chose a third path, which is to simply use stuff the reader does understand and to postulate that there is some sort of translation in effect, so Wolf isn't actually saying this stuff, but something a bit younger than five centuries, which has about the same content and geekyness. That excludes obvious pieces of poetry, which might have a reasonable chance of surviving that far.


	10. Dr. Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new POV! This is the last, I promise. Well, at least I haven't planned any until we hit the very last chapter, but this is NaNoWriMo. One never knows what might happen. In previous drafts, Dr. Brown was male, if pretty similar in personality. I decided to switch gender for two reasons. One, there's a rather low density of women in this work otherwise. Of course StarCraft sets kind of a bad precedent, with very few women in important roles .
> 
> The second is the interaction between Lyra and Dr. Brown. In the old drafts, Brown had some trouble focusing while Lyra's bust was anywhere nearby. This would have gotten rather boring fast, and it does no longer fit now that I decided to dwell less on Lyra's looks. There's still a mention of her curves, but now it's not the ogling of a horny male, but the jealousy of a less self-confident female. This bit of tension between Lyra and Julia isn't as dominant as the other was, and will most likely give me some chances to show beauty from different perspectives.

Dr. Julia Brown fidgeted around in her business suit while the Dropship arrived, as she was used to wearing loose and comfortable clothing, under a lab coat when necessary, and felt uncomfortably unlike herself looking like a stockbroker. The suit had also been tailored for her when she had been younger, and she had shifted some mass since then, which made the thing a bit tight in places.

There was also the upcoming meeting with Mr. Findlay’s friend. Until an hour ago, she hadn’t known that Moebius had hired the Raiders, and now she was suddenly the one who had to meet someone who had called Moebius using a code they had given to Mr. Findlay, and had asked for a personal meeting. She had apparently been chosen for her interpersonal skills and aptitude for negotiations, talents she wasn’t sure how they had ended up in her resume. They sure hadn’t been requirements for her doctorate in solid state physics. But now that she was here, she better made a good job out of it.

Not that the higher-ups had given her much of a hint about what to do, just handed her a large folder with some rather unspecific information about the deal to the Raiders and told her to see what the man wanted. She felt unsure what to do when he would demand some support, or anything, as she wasn’t in any position to decide such questions. She’d have to phone some other people for basically every scenario she could imagine to get the permission to agree with whatever the man’s deal might include. In a way, she felt like a sacrificial lamb thrown to the Wolves, chosen because she didn’t have to travel farther than a few light years to the rendezvous.

There was also the spaceship. While her parents kept telling her that she’d been born in space, Dr. Brown had grown up, studied and worked on the surface of planets exclusively, doing not more than any necessary space travels. While she knew that the engineers for spacecraft were extremely good at what they did, her gut told her about the dangers of explosive decompression, and she always felt uneasy without solid ground beneath her feet. High buildings and daringly designed bridges were already bad, but space stations were the worst, despite the fact that their artificial gravity compensated for inertia, making a flight through space steadier than a cruise over the calm sea.

Additionally, she didn’t actually know this particularly one. Her laboratory was planetside and she had been made to abandon it basically mid-experiment to fly to the Cook, a science vessel that had been the closest Moebius location from the Dylar system, where the call had apparently originated. Whoever had phoned her to give her this job had neglected to mention that this was odd — according to latest news, the Raiders weren’t particularly close to the Dylar system and instead operating in Protoss space, so why would a friend of Mr. Findlay call from there?

The alarm indicating the docking of a ship began to sound in the observation room to warn everyone that the hangar was currently evacuated. Dr. Brown tried to ignore it and concentrated on the view through the window to get a glimpse at the incoming ship, which most likely was the one carrying the friend. It appeared to be a dropship, of a more recent production series, with curved wings and sleek design, the whole thing painted in subdued colors, looking rather unremarkable. She noted with interest the absence of a Raiders roundel on the wings. Another inconsistency she hadn’t been prepared for.

When the ship had set down and the hagar doors sealed again, the alarm ended, and Dr. Brown quickly stepped out of the observation room to meet her guests, in her haste forgetting the folder with notes she had left on the bench. As she came closer, she had time to examine the ship with more detail, although there wasn’t much of interest to see. No interesting paint jobs, no modifications to the engine, as far as she could tell. It looked wholly unremarkable, almost a bit too much so, as if someone had set out to design a ship that didn’t stand out. When she came close enough to make out the name painted under the cockpit window, she felt confirmed in her assessment. Nonexistent XI. No one would believe her she’d seen a ship named like this. And as the light of the lamps illuminating the hangar reflected off the ship, she noticed something else: There was a pin-up girl pasted onto the hull, or, to be more precise, the silhouette of one made out of transparent plastic film. An invisible pin-up girl for an invisible ship…

She stepped around the wings and found the rear hatch open, with a bit of conversation coming from inside. Then someone stepped step out to greet her, a large and lanky man dressed in an armored full-body suit that looked rather dashing with its black and red. He was the most heavily armed man Dr. Brown had seen in her life, with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder, and a rather dangerous looking revolver on his hip, as well as some cylinders on his belt that looked like grenades. While he stepped down the metal hatch in what appeared to be heavy army boots, his footfalls were not louder than that of a cat.

But her gaze was drawn to his face immediately. It wasn’t a handsome face, slightly too angular and sharply cut to be appealing, otherwise rather nondescript, or at least Julia couldn’t remember any other parts of his face except the eyes and his expression. He wasn’t quite staring, just looking slightly behind everything he looked at, which had the effect that he appeared to look not at someone, but through someone. And then there was that smile, a faint raising of the corners of his mouth. Dr. Brown wasn’t sure if he has laughing about her inside, just remembered something funny, or was just generally happy.

Remembering manners, she stretched out her hand. “I’m Dr. Julia Brown. I welcome you to the Cook.” The man smiled a warm, welcoming smile now, but it still looked somewhat distant and detached. He didn’t shake her hand, either, just answered: “I am Wolf. I look forward to our conversation.” That seemed a rather strange greeting, as if it had been carefully worded not to reveal what Wolf was thinking. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to answer that.

Another person stepped down the ramp, a woman, clothed similarly to Wolf, although in a white and blue color, and with different kinds of weapons in the holsters. To Julia, she looked like an actress, with her dark skin and the body that had proper proportions, not like Julia, who now very much felt too short, too stubby and too tight around the chest. Behind the woman walked another man, dressed in rather plain clothes, old enough to be the father of the other two, although given that they all looked pretty different, that was probably a coincidence. His bushy mustache had some gray in it, and the hair on his head was beginning to thin, which together with his rather deep wrinkles for a man of his age gave the impression of someone who had been through more pain in his life than was good for a person.

The old man apparently had more concerns about politeness and shook Dr. Brown’s hand while introducing both himself and the lady beside him: “Anthony Williams and Lyra Saiph, at your service.” Julia tried not to cringe from the rather strong handshake and answered: “I hope your visit here will be fruitful.” Something Williams had said seemed to have distracted Lyra, who stared into the distance, mumbling some word under her breath. When she noticed that Dr. Brown was stretching out her hand, she jerked out of it and shook it a bit gingerly, smiling embarrassed. Unlike Wolf’s, her facial expressions looked a lot more natural. “Nice to meet you.”, she said, and Dr. Brown envied her for that voice. It was a voice you wouldn’t mind whispering in your ear.

When she saw Lyra’s suit Julia’s mind made the connection: Wolf and Lyra were Ghosts. That turned her shy intimidation into fear, and she found herself looking for excuses. Only the Dominion had Ghosts, so only they could have sent them. But she couldn’t see why Mengsk would send two Ghosts to deal with the Findlay matter, instead of slaughtering Moebius’s reputation publicly by exposing the deal. “I see that my request has been heeded.”, Wolf commented out of the blue. “What?”, Julia asked, taken by surprise by the comment. “I wished to talk to a representative of the foundation that had no former involvement in the matter concerning Mr. Findlay and the Raiders.” That seemed a very strange request, especially for someone who she had been told had introduced himself as a friend of Findlay.

“You do not intend to have our negotiations in this hangar.”, Wolf stated, correctly, although Dr. Brown had no idea if he’d guessed that or was just formulating a question as statement. The captain of the Cook had allowed her to use a small conference room located not far from the hangar. “Er … yes. Follow me please.” Dr. Brown led her guests through the facility, feeling a bit scared by the fact that despite three people walking after her, she could only hear one set of footfalls.

She also very much tried not to notice the strange conversation that took place between Lyra and Williams: “That … really is my last name?” “Yes. Lyra Saiph is your real name. I think you’re the last of your line, too. Your parents … disappeared after joining an anti-Dominion demonstration that turned violent. I’m sorry.” Lyra’s voice sounded sad when she answered: “I don’t remember it.” “Not surprising. You were a little girl before … all this. I don’t think they have told you your full name on a regular basis.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Lyra commented with a curious voice: “Cook is a funny name for a ship.” It took Dr. Brown a moment to realize she was the one who had to answer and stammered: “I think there was an explorer of that name once. Moebius tries not only to increase the knowledge of humanity, but also preserve the legacy of those who did it before.” “An impressive setup”, Williams chimed in, “bigger than I expected. I always thought Science Vessels to be smaller.” No comment from Wolf, which made Julia doubt for a moment that he was still there, but as she glanced backwards for a second, she saw him following her, slightly closer than was comfortable. She concentrated on answering the question, trying not to get scared by the Ghost: “A common misconception. Science Vessels are nearly as large as battlecruisers, although there have been considerable differences in size among designs. The Amerigo for example was larger than a cruiser, and rather vulnerable, as it turned out. Science Vessels intended for combat situations, like the Da Gama, are considerably more compact and sturdy. Of course, they can’t really be used for research in return.”

That seemed to satisfy their curiosity for now, and the rest of the way to the conference room was spent in silence. She opened the door and ushered them in, asking them to take a seat. The room was not very large, intended for not more than seven people, and just had a elliptic table with a collection of chairs plus a flat hologram projector that was permanently set to the whiteboard function. Williams took a seat at the front end of the table, making himself comfortable in the creaking chair. Lyra sat down next to him, sitting rather straight and primly. Her behavior reminded Dr. Brown of herself when she was extremely nervous, being tense like a coiled spring and not able to relax without starting to fidget.

Wolf didn’t take a seat and instead kept standing behind the other two, in the corner of the room, like some kind of bodyguard looming in the shadows. When Julia looked at him questioningly, he smiled a bit stronger for a moment, but it was a smile with knifes in it. He managed to radiate a lot of menace with an expression intended for happiness. Whenever he looked at her, Dr. Brown couldn’t shake the feeling that he was intending to gnaw her ear off.

She sat down on the opposite end of the table and noticed that she had forgotten her notes somewhere, so she went red with embarrassment before she asked: “So, what exactly is it you offer?” “Out service.”, Lyra answered rather bluntly, “We’re mercenaries looking for permanent employment. We’ve got a ship, basic equipment, and years of experience. We can start immediately.” There was a pleading expression in her eyes, as if they were in desperate need of that position. “Mercenaries. That isn’t what I expected.”, Julia answered, trying to remember if she’d written down the number of the person to call for that. She probably had, but she certainly couldn’t remember it without her notes.

“But you’re Ghosts.”, she objected, addressing the elephant in the room, “I thought only the Dominion was able to train Ghosts.” This time, it was Williams who answered: “A common misconception.”, he began, using her own words against her, “Equipping a person with basic equipment is an easy job on the black market, as there are enough looters and dead Ghosts in the sector to provide a steady supply. Training is a bit more difficult, but a talented psionic can teach themselves many tricks.” The old man wasn’t a very good liar. While what he said probably had been the truth, the three most likely hadn’t been equipped and trained by the underground. There was a story here, but they weren’t willing to share. Julia didn’t push the issue, not with Wolf’s eyes watching her carefully.

“And why the permanent employment? This is a bit unusual for mercenaries.”, she asked for them to clarify the next issue, while trying to keep a mental checklist what questions had already been answered. It was Lyra again who gave her an explanation: “A Ghost needs a lot of sophisticated equipment. While some of the stuff can be found on the black market, we’re not at our best. Money is all well and good, but of no use if we die in the field because our cloaking fails at the wrong moment. To keep our supplies stocked, we’d need to break into Dominion armories every few months. We can’t risk that. But we know that Moebius is just as good as engineering things as they are at research. If we get employed, you could produce those extra supplies for us, while we work for lower rates. Overall, we both would profit from an agreement like that.”

“And what should Moebius want to use Ghosts for? No offense, but you’re only two people.”, she criticized, guessing that Williams was probably not a front-line person, “We need large platoons for security. You can’t provide that.” “We can do what platoons cannot.”, Wolf answered from the shadows, smiling cruelly, “Ghosts are good at doing things that do not show up on any record. I can see you’re morally opposed to the idea, but the decision is not up to you, and your superiors will find the idea of having personal Ghosts very attractive. We excel at discreetly removing the razor blades from all apples you might be bobbing for.”

That was, much to her dismay, all true. But they smug way Wolf said such things made her feel rather angry about it. More abrupt than she had intended, she stood up and announced: “You’re right, I need to tell this to someone with more authority. If you’d excuse me …” As she tried to move past the Ghosts out of the room, Lyra suggested: “Your superiors will take some time for that decision. We’d be willing to do a job for you in the meantime, as a proof for our ability.”

Dr. Brown hasted through the corridors of the cook, trying to remember where she had left her notes. She finally found them in the observation room, and quickly flipped through them to see if she’d written down the number of the executive in charge of mercenaries. She had, and quickly dialed the number in her communicator while walking the way back. “Rupert here.”, a voice barked into her ear, apparently a bit hoarse. She imagined the man at the other end of the line to be a big, bear-like fellow, given the volume of his bass. “I’m Dr. Julia Brown. Am I correct in contacting you for mercenary —” “Yeah, I’m the guy to talk to. Except that my answer’s going to be No. There’s no mercenaries left. Yeah, yeah, I know your facility needs saving from the Zerg, but I can’t do squat without men, and there’s no brokers left who are offering contracts. Hill hasn’t answered for ages, Han is fucking expensive and a pain to deal with, and Orlan’s a goddamn vulture. So unless you can magic —” “Actually, I’m calling because I have an offer.”, Julia interrupted the tirade, which sounded like it had been recited a lot on the recent days.

Rupert was silent for a moment, apparently digesting that information, then continued in the same style: “Well, hire as many as you can. I don’t care for money at the moment, as long as they do what they’re told. I’ll forward some jobs to you to present to them. How many did you say they offered?” “Two. They’re only two people. And a dropship.”, Dr. Brown answered, feeling a bit silly, since apparently Rupert, whose last name was Maginot according to her notes, had expected something more along the lines of an army. “Something smaller then. They’re a drop in an empty bucket, but I think there’s still some use. Yeah, here. Indra Station. I’ll forward it to you, Mrs…?” “Brown. And it’s Doctor.” “Yeah, gotcha. Sending it now.”

Rupert sounded as if the business was finished and he was about to terminate the call, so Julia quickly followed up with their proposal. She had to try several times to explain the idea to Mr. Maginot, who seemed rather confused by the idea of having mercenaries as permanent employees. Dr. Brown was already standing outside the conference room for some time when the man seemed to have grasped the basic concept and reached the rather disappointing conclusion that he’d have to make some calls to other departments to see if they could agree to this.

She stepped back into the conference room, noting with a bit of interest how the positions of the people had changed. While Williams had apparently only shuffled around in his seat a bit, Lyra had given up her stiff posture and was now actually slouching, her elbow resting on the table, with her head supported by her hand, while idly tracing patterns on the tabletop with the other hand. Wolf did not seem to have moved at all. “I’ve got a job for you.”, Dr. Brown announced, leading with the good news and stepping over to the holo projector to get the file.

After a minute of typing, she had logged in, feeling a bit intimidated by the silence behind her, as apparently all were watching her fumble with the technology. She quickly opened the file Rupert had sent her, and was about to read out it to the Ghosts when Wolf’s finger fell on the print button and he took the paper the program spat out without further comment. “I’m not sure if they’ll agree to your offer”, Julia stammered, trying not to get flustered by Wolf’s rather impolite behavior, “so I don’t know how we’ll handle payment.” “There is a standard fee”, Wolf commented, not looking up from the file, “which will be sufficient for now.”

“We’re willing to waive half of it”, Lyra announced somewhat surprisingly, “if you can find employment for Williams.” That had apparently not been arranged with the others beforehand, judging from their surprised reactions. Williams seemed to want to object, but Lyra threw him a look that Julia could read all to well. It said “Just trust me.” “Fine”, Williams mumbled and shrugged. With the matter apparently settled, the two Ghosts walked out of the room, coordinating their actions rather well for people apparently not talking to each other. The old man just remained where he was, looking at Julia with a half bemused, half sympathetic expression.

“I’ll see what I can do.”, Dr. Brown answered at the closing doorknob, feeling like a doormat. Williams chuckled. “I see you’re dealing with someone of Wolf’s caliber for the first time. My advice: Just get out of the way. He’ll talk you out of your pants otherwise.”, the old man advised. Julia slumped into a chair, feeling considerably more secure now that those steel-gray eyes weren’t watching her any longer. Williams seemed to be immune to it, maybe because he had spent some time near Wolf, or because he hadn’t been the Ghost’s focus. “Well, before we start anything else”, the man announced, taking his hands off the table, “do tell me if there is any place on this ship where a man might get some coffee?” “There’s a machine right outside.”, Julia answered, feeling relieved by the triviality of the question.

“Excuse me for a moment, then.”, Williams decided and stood up. When he was at the door, he turned around and asked: “Do you want one, too?” That was more politeness than Julia had expected, but she didn’t let the chance go by: “Yes, please. A double cappuccino.” Williams left, and when he returned a few minutes later with two cups, Dr. Brown had managed to compose herself a bit again, although she guessed that the old man wasn’t paying attention to that. He generally seemed to be the understanding type. When she wanted to hand him a few coins in exchange for her cappuccino, he refused to be paid.

It was interesting to see how his mustache moved when the man was drinking. After a rather long sip, he sighed and relaxed a bit, announcing to the world in general: “It’s good to taste proper coffee again. I certainly got sick of that military type A.” Julia stirred her own drink, waiting for it to cool down a bit, trying to remember where she knew that phrase from. “Military type A… that was from one of Liberty’s old columns, wasn’t it?” Williams nodded, adding a bit of milk to his coffee. “From back when he was on the Norad, telling us how nice the Dominion was. It’s good to see there’s still people around remembering that.” “It doesn’t feel like the Confederacy has been gone for only four years. So much has happened since.” Williams nodded, drinking another large gulp of his coffee.

Julia watched the patterns her spoon made in the foam on top of the cappuccino, considering how to phrase her suspicions nicely. “I think there’s a story behind this.”, she said carefully, seeing if Williams would look disapproving, “You’re not just outlaw Ghosts, are you?” The old man looked at his coffee for some time, apparently also in thought about what to say. Finally, he mumbled: “To hell with this.”, and began to explain: “You’re correct. Wolf wouldn’t want me to say this, but I think plausible deniability is worth less than trust. But switch your phone off, please. I would prefer if nothing of this leaves this room.”

When Dr. Brown had done so, Williams took another sip of his coffee and then began: “Well, let me reintroduce myself. I am Chief Warrant Officer Anthony Williams, senior engineer of the Ghost Academy, and I defected less than five hours ago when Wolf came to break Lyra out …” His story went on for some time, sounding rather unbelievable in places, but he did not appear to be making anything up. It was a rather sad story, about the ways Ghosts were treated, and how Williams had helped to do so. He didn’t mention Wolf until the very end, where he explained shortly that the Spectre came from Raynor’s Raiders. While he told his tale, Dr. Brown’s cappuccino got cold, but she was too focused on listening to drink. 


	11. Lyra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Chekov's greatest red herring. This chapter got a lot of small hints that might become relevant in the future, but then again, might not. This is NaNoWriMo, after all. If there isn't at least one major and unexpected shift in the plot compared to your outline, you're not entering the spirit of the thing. I have to admit, though, so far I haven't, mostly because there's still like two or three chapters left of the previous revision that I have to re-write, although I am quite happy to see how the two versions of the story begin to diverge, with Wolf being not the likeable omnitalented soldier any more (although his character growth will take at least five chapters more before it really gets going), and Lyra and her troubles get more screen time.
> 
> For those worried about the size of the cast, don't fret: The major characters now all have entered the novel. There's going to be a bit more supporting cast, but I'll try not to make them too important. Then again, they might suddenly sneak their way into the plot, because NaNoWriMo.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This chapter is also the reason why I went and tried around a lot with the style of telepathy, as Khrillian can be somewhat verbose, and large passages of italics do look a bit straining. He also at one point ends a sentence with an emphasized word, and that'd get horribly confusing if I used italics for both.
> 
> You'll notice that this chapter is even longer than the one of Williams, and I have to honestly say that I have no idea how that happened.

While Wolf was starting the ship, Lyra continued reading the report where he had stopped, giving him the most important facts via telepathy, in case he wasn’t actively reading through her eyes — Indra station was a small research station in orbit around a rather weak star, focused on reverse-engineering xenotechnology, especially Protoss artifacts, and it had been attacked and taken nearly completely by Zerg, but apparently some vital technologies had been locked into a safe area from which they were to be retrieved, together with some “asset of classified nature” which had not been explained in any detail except that it would “find its way onto any extracting vessel”.

 _Funny_ , Lyra commented as she switched from the summary to the full description, _the asset is mentioned in the blurb, but it’s not listed among the specifications of the goods we will be paid to collect._ Wolf didn’t answer, being busy with requesting permission to leave the Cook, so Lyra continued reading, hoping there’d be some hints about it in the rest of the file, which described the exact loss of the station, with the Zerg having moved in about two days ago, meeting little resistance as Indra had only minimal security staff, which instead of putting up a fight had focused on packing the valuable equipment into crates and sealing those into an uninfested area, not sending out a signal via distress beacon in accord to the guidelines generally accepted when dealing with Zerg, as it was more likely the would-be rescuers would get killed as well, instead of helping, so only Moebius had gotten a report about the fall of the station.

Again, Lyra noticed a discrepancy that others might have overlooked: The original report had been sent before the secured crates had arrived at their destination, probably because the sender couldn’t risk waiting any longer in case the antenna was getting destroyed, so whether or not the exact amount of goods had arrived should have been less well known, but apparently Moebius had gotten a confirmation that the area had been sealed properly, with all goods inside, including some things flagged as non-crucial, which amounted to a minuscule bonus payment in case they were brought back.

 _So, an asset that will “find its way”, confirmation of the goods status after the initial report, asset not listed among the things to collect. Your analysis?_ , she asked Wolf, who answered rather quickly: _Same as yours: The asset is sentient. And has been out of food and water for two days, if things went bad. Could you look at the Warp coordinates for me please?_ Lyra did so, and a few seconds later her view was distorted into the usual stretched tunnel as the ship covered several parsecs within the fraction of a second.

Indra station was visible through the cockpit window, a small bright spot against the starry background, and Wolf announced: _Well, let’s try out this ship._ He was referring to the feature he hadn’t mentioned yet to Williams, again expecting the engineer to figure it out himself, as the Nonexistent XI and her eleven sister ship weren’t just Quantradynes, but also equipped with the best cloaking technology available to humankind, even more sophisticated than the generators used for banshees, which had to be cheap enough for extended field assembly, in contrast to the stealth Quantradynes, which had been built with an basically unlimited budget.

From inside the ship, the process of cloaking wasn’t very spectacular, only the humming of the engines got slightly louder as more power was drawn from the generators to supply the metamaterials on the hull, but based on her previous experience with this ship, it was now impossible to make out the ship at the usual sensor frequencies, and very hard to detect on the frequencies used by cloak detectors, so the Zerg would not notice they were there until the ship was docking.

Indra station itself wasn’t particularly impressive, built in the usual mushroom shape of smaller-sized orbital stations, although in this case it had been expanded by a second, smaller hemispherical habitat next to the first one, the two complexes connected to each other with a rather thin bridge segment, the whole station looking actually remarkably whole for a place the xenomorphs had taken over, although it was impossible to miss that fact, a cloud of Zerg swarming around the whole station, the biosignature alarm in the cockpit marking a rather extreme amount of potentially hostile lifeforms on the screen.

The secure area was in the smaller of the two domes, and thankfully included an airlock, otherwise the job would have gotten very risky, trying to haul the crates through several meters of Zerg-controlled terrain, with few chances of their cloaking not being compromised, and highly outnumbered, even with force multipliers.

While Wolf was manually steering the ship into docking position, as the automated control was probably offline and of course unable to react to a cloaked ship, Lyra put everything mobile into the storage compartments above the seats to secure them in case the area beyond the airlock turned out to have been breached and opened into vacuum, so she stowed everything away except helmets for Wolf and her., but while doing that her mind caught some thoughts that made her feel dizzy, with their focus on obeying swarming crawling hungering assimilating breeding … that told her that Zerg were here when she managed to snap out if it again.

There was as slight shudder of the ship when the docking clamps engaged and fixated the ship over the airlock, then Wolf came out of the cockpit, sealed the door and donned his helmet, waiting next to her for the docking procedure to continue, which it did without incident, and when the rear hatch opened, the only hiss of air came from the hydraulics moving the ramp, the room behind the airlock therefore pressurized at standard atmospheric pressure, a good sign so far.

There was a shift in the psionic background while Wolf was fiddling around with the airlock controls to accept it to open both doors at once, the rather unfocused existence of the Zerg suddenly gaining something to think about, and they reacted with malice and frenzy and punding blood and calls for the hunt, so Lyra informed Wolf, who seemed not the able to feel that: _The Zerg have noticed us docking. They’re coming to defend out territory. The good new is, this is not Her focus. They’re not going to throw all they have at us, just what they can spare._ Wolf shrugged, not caring that much, and he was most likely right, as even a halfhearted Zerg attack was probably too forceful for them to stand a chance.

The second airlock door opened, revealing a rather bare room that at the moment looked a bit like a storage area, with all the crates stacked against the walls, rather orderly for a place that should have been filled in a hurry, the whole place illuminated by a single construction light connected to an emergency generator that chugged quietly to itself, and that was all Lyra could see.

Wolf, however, seemed to be able to sense something else, as immediately after the door opened, he aimed his rifle at a spot to the right of the door, then suddenly lunged forward and swung the butt of his rifle at thin air, where it connected with something with a dull thud, followed by Wolf kicking an invisible leg away and aiming his rifle at the ground while some kind of staff was rolling away from the spot, coming to halt against one of the crates.

“That meant: Yes, I can see you. Now uncloak and help us carry those things if you want a ride.”, Wolf said to the patch of empty air he was aiming his rifle at, which answered: _Impressive._ The shadows seemed to solidify into the shape of a Protoss, lying on his back, rubbing his chest where Wolf must have managed to hit him — his clothing identified him as Dark Templar, if there was even any proof needed after his display of cloaking, as he was wearing a dark leather armor and a long, flowing cape of a deep purple color, a bit in contrast with his pale blueish green skin.

 _I take it you’re not a person who trusts easily._ , he commented while standing up, looking around, probably searching his staff. “I take it you’re that classified asset we’re supposed to let aboard?”, Lyra asked, and the Protoss seemed to chuckle as he answered: _That is what they call me now? Yes, I believe I am who you seek._ He stretched out his hand towards Lyra and continued: _Excuse my manners. I’m Khrillian, and am quite happy to see you._ Lyra shook the large hand gingerly, guessing this to be the strangest handshake she’d ever feel, given the size difference and his second thumb wrapping around her little finger, but she answered politely: “I’m Lyra. This is Wolf. We’re here to collect what remains of Indra station.”

 _Well, you’re looking at it. Just me, and those crates._ , Khrillian answered, sounding rather sad, which was to be expected given that he hadn’t been the only person working here, and Lyra couldn’t help but check the psionic background if the Zerg had left any other pockets in which survivors could have hidden, but she found nothing, and said quietly: “I’m sorry.” _I lost some good friends here_ , Khrillian continued, _people who sacrificed themselves to delay the Zerg to give me time to hide. A terrible waste._ “No one else tried to hide?”, Lyra asked, not believing that, but the Protoss explained: _The amount of food in here amounts to a packet of cookies and a bottle of soda. No one could have survived long enough to be extracted, except me._

“You two should get moving.”, Wolf commented, pointedly walking past them carrying a crate, one of the rather official looking ones, made of aluminum or something similar, including a seal that warned that breaking it without proper authorization would destroy the contents, which made up about half of the total amount of boxed stacked, the rest being made of wood or cardboard and looking a lot less official, so they probably were the cargo flagged as not crucial and therefore worth less, so when Lyra put her rifle in the back holster and picked up one of the crates, she made sure to take an aluminum one.

The thing was surprisingly heavy, as if filled with a lot of metal, but she was strong enough to lift it, especially with the artificial muscle layer of the suit giving her a bit of a boost, and she began to carry the crate to the ship, where she stacked it on top of Wolf’s crate, judging that the space available was enough to get all of the boxes stacked outside into the ship, although it would get a bit cramped, a prediction that turned out to be rather accurate as they continued stacking crates, sometimes having to team up to haul some of the larger boxes which were extremely heavy, and they probably couldn’t have moved at all if Khrillian hadn’t suggested to use telekinesis to lighten the load, and Lyra guessed that it had taken two marines in armor to move those crates in here.

When they moved on to the simpler boxes, they could pick up the pace considerably, as those were much lighter, although from the sound of some of them, the content had once been fragile, and now was shards, but since Moebius had not expected to get any of that equipment back in the first place, there’d probably no pay deducted for returning it broken.

As hauling the crates was rather boring work, Lyra had time to keep check of the psionic background of the Zerg, which became more frantic with the minute, the intercepting forces most likely not much further away, although they seemed to have stopped moving for now, most likely kept away by whatever obstacle that had prevented them from reaching this place when they first invaded, but Lyra didn’t probe further, as she had to maintain a precarious balance, the hive mind luring her in and giving her insight into Zerg movements, but she had to keep remembering that she was Lyra, carrying boxes, and not supposed to attack the intruders.

There suddenly was movement thought, and frenzy, close by, calling her, warning her, enraging her, and she dropped her box, pulled out her rifle, aimed at Wolf — who ducked on cue, and she fired, picking the Zergling that had tried to pounce at Wolf’s back cleanly out of the air, but she could feel more coming, quickly, having taken the tight path through the air ducts, and the main horde was no longer helpless either, using Banelings to blast their way through the sealed doors, so she quickly ejected the casing and aimed her rifle at the corner the Zerg would be appear behind, ready for the next kill.

It didn’t take long for another Zergling snout to appear from the darkness, but Lyra had the range advantage, killing the thing with a single round to the head before it could come close enough to endanger the others, who were frantically moving the last of the crates through the airlock and into the ship while she stood vigilant, awaiting the Zerg swarm, which would be coming any second now, and then she opened fire, using the bottleneck to her advantage, killing a Zergling, cycling the action, firing again, killing another, ejecting the round again, firing again, killing the things as quick as they appeared, their corpses forming a macabre heap at the end of the room.

Someone grabbed her arm and she whirled around snarling, trying to bury her claws into his throat, but Wolf ducked and slapped her on the cheek, shouting: “Damn, Lyra! Snap out of it!”, and with that she managed to remember herself, and the danger she was in, and noticed that the two others were done with loading the dropship, so she got moving, running towards the ship while Wolf gave her a bit covering fire, although it was too late, the Zerg coming in such large numbers now that he couldn’t hold them back and for a moment Lyra feared that they wouldn’t be fast enough, that the Zerglings would catch up to them, and when Khrillian shouted: _Hydralisks!_ , her heart nearly stopped.

But they had reached the airlock, and Wolf, who apparently was not as fazed by the imminent death as she was, thumped the emergency flush button on the control panel, which closed the stationside door, the sound of several hydralisk spines ricocheting off the metal relieving Lyra immensely, but it hadn’t been quite fast enough, a Zergling caught between the two halves of the door, doing its best to keep them open, and several claws entered the gap, forcing it open again. “Right. Let’s get dangerous.”, Wolf announced, loaded a grenade into his rifle, and fired, the thing tumbling towards the gap and apparently sticking to the first thing it touched, which was a Zergling head.

There was no sound or explosion, but the thing jerked back as if it had been stung, and with loud shrieks everything behind the airlock door was scattering in panic, the door snapping shut over the unlucky Zergling still caught inside, and Wolf whistled some tune while walking back to the ship, holding his rifle in a very relaxed way, sure in his knowledge that he won, so Lyra asked while they stepped on board: _What was that, another pick-up from the lab wing?_ Wolf smiled while pressing the switch to close the rear hatch, taking the time to explain his knowledge in words instead of letting the connection just send it over: _Irradiation grenade. A small thing I developed together with Stetman, although it’s not really applicable for large scales. It’s a neutron source, and a secondary emitter covered in lead. When the thing attaches to a surface, the lead is moved away, resulting in an intense shower of radiation in a small area._ His enthusiasm for grenades was clear when he continued the explanation while walking into the cockpit: _It of course can’t compete to a full dose by a science vessel, but is still an effective scare against Zerg. They’re more sensitive to ionizing radiation than humans._

Khrillian watched Wolf as he entered the cockpit, then looked at Lyra while she was taking off her helmet, and then complained: _It is rude to exclude others from a conversation, you know._ Lyra was a bit surprised that the Protoss had been able to notice their conversation, but she probably shouldn’t have, given that the Protoss had evolved around their telepathy to some degree, and given that private conversation was something akin to whispering, he was of course right in being offended by them doing it in his presence, so Lyra quickly apologized: “I’m sorry. It’s just more convenient for us to talk this way. I don’t think we can include you. It’s … well, like the Khala, I guess. But just us two.” _Most interesting._ , Khrillian commented, apparently having some own thoughts he didn’t want to share.

Lyra looked around the cargo hold filled nearly to the brim, with the stacks of crates everywhere, one of them falling down and spilling its contents over the floor as Wolf accelerated the ship to get away from the station before any Overlords could bet close enough to give their position away to the swarm of Mutalisks circling around the station, and Lyra found herself curious what kind of things they were actually transporting, so she asked Khrillian, pointing at the crate: “Mind if I am nosy?” _Not at all. Feel free to look at it and take what you like. This stuff should’ve been left behind anyway, they can’t tell whats missing._ _Except that_ _. That’s_ _mine_ _._ , the Protoss answered, snatching away the staff he had lost before and which Lyra had been about to touch, then placed it next to himself on the bench after examining it lovingly for any damage.

“Why were you on Indra station?”, she asked while examining the other objects that had spilled out of the crate, which all looked like very ordinary things that could have been found on any office desk, like for example half of a coffee mug. “Be mad — it helps”, Lyra read what was left of the humorous inscription while Khrillian began his tale: _I was employed there, technically. I kid you not when I tell you that I am a fully recognized employee of the Moebius foundation for about a year now. Well, at least on paper. I’ve been treated with varying levels of suspicion. On Indra station, they seemed to have misfiled my resume in the folder POW._

Lyra placed everything she had examined back in their container, asking: “Why work with humans, then?” _I’d like to believe in inter-species cooperation. We Protoss have technologies, you Terrans have a seemingly infinite reservoir of ideas. Combine one with the other, and you can propel science forward by generations. But it felt like my hopes were misplaced. Most of the time, what the projects I was assigned to did was trying to copy Protoss technology with your own primitive tools. There was no sharing, there was just me getting asked why the thing refused to work. I never got insight into your technologies, either. A shame, really._ He stopped as Wolf engaged the Warp jump, bringing them back to the Cook.

Two small items caught Lyra’s eye, as they looked rather pretty, a couple of golden metal rhombuses, with a blue crystal in their centers, with a hook dangling from a small loop on top — earrings, which was surprising, given that Protoss had no visible ears, but this was clearly made by them. _I see you like them. You can have them if you want — Sam can no longer use them._ , Khrillian commented, apparently watching her with interest, and Lyra was happy to hear that she could keep them, although of course they’d only be a hazard while she was on a mission, and she’d need to get her ears pierced first as well, but she hoped that someday there’d be an opportunity and tucked the earrings away in one of the pockets on her belts, asking: “How do Protoss wear earrings?” Khrillian chuckled again, or rather emanated an emotion that meant the same, and corrected her: _It was Samantha who added those hooks. They’ve been accessories before, though. They’re glued onto the skin._

“What tribe are you from, Khrillian?”, Wolf asked over the internal speakers, as he had no longer to steer the ship while the Cook guided the Nonexistent back into the hangar, and Lyra’s eye was drawn to the small detail Wolf had already noticed back on the Indra station when the Dark Templar had first decloaked: His cape was hold by a round brooch also fixed to the armor, which showed his clan symbol, a vertical line and two bent triangles, as if it was spinning.

Unconcerned, Khrillian began another explanation, which was different from what Lyra had expected: _I’m not sure why you want to know, but it’s Ver’tas. We’re a rather small tribe, not really important in the large scheme of things. Our origins are a few centuries ago, when there was … disagreement among the Zeratai tribe. Instead of forcing the issue, our founders decided to leave the tribe peacefully. Since then, we have kept away from politics and instead focused on science and technology for the advance of all Protoss. That has makes us more welcoming to new ideas, and we were among the few tribes who did not protest to the integration of the Khalai into our society, and we are proud to be called a part of the Daelaam._

“Small tribe”, Wolf repeated while he stepped out of the cockpit, stowing his helmet in one of the overhead compartments, “and yet building a Carrier.” He said it in an uninterested way, but Khrillian didn’t seem to be fooled and eyed the Spectre carefully, who in turn did his best to appear unconcerned, and then Khrillian denied: _The Ver’tas tribe is not in possession of any Carrier-class warships, and neither has the Hierarchy commissioned us to build any._ There seemed to be more to this, but it was clear that the Protoss wasn’t willing to share his story, and he met Wolf’s stare head-on, squaring himself to some kind of mental duel that Lyra could feel in the air, but couldn’t understand, as she would have simply said what she knew about Liassa outright, but Wolf had forbidden her that preemptively, apparently considering himself to be able to solve that his way.

Their mental contest was disrupted by the ship landing inside the Cook and Lyra opening the rear hatch to leave the thing, at which point Wolf carefully suggested, not taking his eyes off Khrillian: “Let us wait in the observation for the others” _Agreed_ , the Protoss answered and broke eyes contact first, followed by both of course pretending there had never been any contest at all, following Lyra outside the ship and up the stairs to the brightly lit room, where they took positions in opposite corners, both trying to look relaxed and nonchalant while not letting the others out of their eyes.

It didn’t take long until Williams and Dr. Brown came to the observation room, both looking a bit relieved and pleasantly surprised. “Here we are again.”, Wolf greeted them, to which the scientist responded: “You certainly didn’t waste any time.” “It’s always such a pleasure.”, Wolf answered, which did not explain a thing, so Lyra was the one actually giving a proper answer: “How long did you expect an uneventful pickup job to take, Doctor? We just had to jump there, load up the stuff before the Zerg got us and fly back.”

Williams looked very concerned when he heard that. “Zerg? That’s not uneventful”, he reprimanded her, looking disapproving towards Wolf as well, who he probably guessed to be a corrupting influence, so Lyra tried to comfort him: “We had it under control.”, she lied, and immediately felt bad about it, “For the most part. The Nonexistent has perfect cloaking, they didn’t see us coming.” Williams of course sensed her uncertainty immediately and asked with a slightly warning tone: “But…?” Lyra gave in, not able to lie at his concerned face and fatherly mustache: “I … lost myself. The Swarm got to me, and I didn’t keep track of myself. Wolf got me out before I was killed.” Williams licked his thumb and wiped a speck of blood off her brow while reminding her: “Don’t overestimate yourself, Lyra. There’s only one of you, and you shouldn’t throw yourself away for others.”

They were interrupted by Dr. Brown noticing the Protoss in the room and loudly asking: “By the … Khrillian, is that you?” The Dark Templar, who had stood with his back to the room turned around, stretched out his arms and caught the scientist in a friendly hug. _Julia! It’s been a while. How have the last months treated you?_ They untangled, and Dr. Brown answered with a slightly worried expression: “Rather well, everything considered. Except that I’ve somehow been selected as negotiator.” _Another misfiling?_ , the Protossx asked jokingly, _Moebius should get better database support. They filed my under ‘classified asset’._

Julia’s enthusiasm dropped a bit when she heard that, and a bit scared she asked: “You’ve been on Indra station?” Khrillian nodded solemnly and answered: _I was there when the Zerg came. I tried my best, but all I could do in the end was hide to survive and be able to tell of their sacrifice. I really have to thank Wolf and …_ He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to recall something, and snipped his fingers in Lyra’s direction, which looked rather interesting given that he used his lower thumb, but Lyra understood what he wanted, refreshing his memory: “Lyra. Lyra Saiph.”, she answered, trying out her last name again, then pondering whether to tell Khrillian that what he had seen hadn’t been a full-scale Zerg attack, but just a small group of bored skirmishers, but she decided against it when the Protoss finished his sentence: _— and Lyra for the timely rescue. I’m awfully sorry, usually my memory is better._

“Our agreement?”, Wolf asked Dr. Brown, not wasting more words than necessary, which seemed rather rude to Lyra, but he ignored any thoughts she tried to send him over on that matter. “I’ll need to inform Rupert … er, Mr. Maginot that you completed the mission before the payment can be transferred. About the other thing, well, I got word that there have apparently been ‘some interesting ideas’.”, the scientist answered with emphasis on the scare quotes, “They can’t decide that quick and you’re supposed to wait for that decision. I’ve taken the liberty to ask the captain of the Cook to give you quarters for the night, and he wouldn’t mind, so if you like to stay, you can do so.” Before Wolf could come up with any ideas that would probably tie in to some greater plans but would deprive Lyra of a warm bed, she answered quickly: “We’re very thankful for that offer, Doctor.”

“I think I can arrange for you to get a room, too.”, Dr. Brown added, directed at Khrillian, who bowed and answered: _I’d be honored, but please, do not tire yourself on my behalf. I will speak to the captain personally._ With that, he left the room, apparently not needing directions to reach the bridge, and Dr. Brown turned towards the others, still looking a bit intimidated by Wolf, and she managed: “Well, I guess I should show you your quarters then.” “One second.”, Wolf answered and left the room, in the opposite direction to the Protoss, walking back into the hangar and going into the dropship, retrieving the backpack full of the things bought at Kenn’s, then returning to the group, stating that they should go.

Dr. Brown led them deeper into the Science Vessel, along a rather convoluted path that she had at a few points trouble remembering, but turned out to be correct when they reached the living quarters, which consisted of small bedrooms arranged around a central community room with a sofa and a coffee table, and Dr. Brown tried to give a bit of a tour: “That there is my room, and you can have the three next to that, the keys are there on the table. I think we’re alone in this part, so you shouldn’t be disturbed by anyone. The sanitary facilities are down that hallway. Community showers only, I’m afraid.”

The prospect of a shower was very attractive to Lyra, and she quickly grabbed a towel and the shampoo out of Wolf’s backpack and jogged down the corridor, Wolf following her with another towel, having himself relieved of the backpack by pushing it into Williams’ arms. “You two seem to be very desperate for a bath.”, Julia commented quietly, inaudible without telepathy, and Lyra shouted back, not slowing down: “When you’ve spent a day in a Ghost suit under combat conditions, the promise of warm water becomes very appealing.”

She pushed open the door to the showers, peeking inside, where there seemed to be no separation by sex, which she didn’t mind much, at least with Wolf, and it also seemed to be empty, which she was very thankful for, not sure if she wanted anyone to see her naked ever again after what Griper had done to her, except possibly Wolf, whom she could trust not to have any thoughts of that kind, so she had not concerns as she peeled herself out of the Ghost suit, then took off her underwear, but then she felt a bit scared as she noticed that Wolf was looking at her body rather interested, but when he noticed that she felt uncomfortable, he explained his interest: _No scars. It is a surprise to see it, even if I know it already._

Lyra turned around, in turn examining Wolf’s naked body, which did have its shares of not quite healed wounds, in addition to his crooked nose there were some like the circle around his left arm just under the shoulder, where a malfunctioning suit motor had once nearly sheared his arm off, or the cluster of thin gashes on one of his calves, from a Zergling having a good try at hamstringing him, plus small circles here and there, from bullets that had entered his body, and often left through his back again, the mute testimony of his life as front line soldier, making Lyra feel actually a bit guilty about having not a single scar or deeper wound anywhere.

 _I never was in the bloody battles, like you were._ , she tried to explain it while stepping under the shower, but Wolf disarmed that argument by reminding her: _You’ve been in tighter situations against Zerg than I ever have_ , he deduced from her still extremely fuzzy memory, _and yet, you managed to dodge everything, every claw and spine and ball of acid aimed at you._ Lyra turned on the water, for a minute just enjoying the feeling of the warm fluid caressing her body, thanking Wolf inside for giving her the chance to appreciate it properly, as she had always taken it at granted, the Academy being very well supplied, while he had learned to treasure it from the many experiences of having nothing more than a bucket of cold water to wash off the dust of battle.

 _Well, I simply get out of the way. It’s kinda stupid to stay where they are going to strike, isn’t it?_ , she continued the discussion after a while, being slightly surprised when Wolf asked: _How do you do that? You can’t possibly keep track of that many appendages at the same time._ Lyra tried to explain what was so obvious to herself: _You don’t have to, they do that. You just have to … keep track of … their thoughts._ Her voice trailed away as she finally made the connection when her memory unblocked slightly, showing her fuzzy images of a pot, full of a purple substance, and some orders barked at her, and the stuff inside the pot moving. _We don’t actually share our telepathy, do we?_ , she asked, although she already knew the answer, as it was the only one that made sense, and Wolf agreed: _It’s probably a security measure to prevent the feedback loop._ Lyra nodded, picking up the shampoo and spreading it into her hair. _So you can’t sense the Zerg as I can. But I also can’t see the Dark Templar like you do._ , she concluded, remembering the encounter with Khrillian.

They both fell silent for a while, both having nothing else to talk about, but Lyra was feeling uncomfortable, being naked, the memories of Griper coming back to her, her body feeling dirty and sticky from what he had done, and no matter how she tried to clean herself, the feeling of disgust stayed. _I must have showered at least half a dozen times since I beat him up!_ , she complained, _Why can I still smell his stench on me?_ “You can’t.”, Wolf answered, his sudden switch to actual words showing how serious he was, “All you smell is yourself. It’s just that some smells have only been noticeable while Griper was there.” Lyra shook her head, not believing Wolf on that, after all, he hadn’t been through that, just observed it from afar, and she continued scrubbing. “Lyra,  listen. I know what you feel. But your associations are wrong. Trust me when I say that you’re clean.” Lyra sat down, and curled into a ball, her emotions conflicting and confusing, as Wolf’s words had turned everything on its head, the knowledge she thought had been so obvious and irrefutable now suddenly being called into question, by the cold, unfeeling logic of Wolf’s brain, and she began to cry, her tears mixing with the water flowing over her head.

Wolf left the shower, not saying anything, not looking at her in her vulnerable state, just drying himself with the towel, then leaving, telling her from the door: _Take your time._ Lyra just continued sitting there, the warm water flowing over her back, trying to calm herself and to be rational about it, but she just couldn’t get her emotions to agree with Wolf’s analysis, but she also knew that she could trust him a hundred percent, and that could not both be true.

A few minutes later, he came back, clothed in his usual black outfit, holding a bundle of her clothes in his hands, placing it carefully next to her towel, so she wouldn’t have to walk through the corridor in only the towel, and again was about to leave without word, but Lyra, trying to be strong, unfolded, shut off the water and picked up her towel, saying: “I’m sorry.” Wolf turned around and let go of the doorknob, answering: _You don’t have to be._ Lyra began to dry herself, feeling better now, as the smell she had thought was Griper was less noticeable, and answered: _I mean for loosing myself back then. Thank you for beating a bit of sense into me._ Wolf grinned and promised: _Anytime. You just need more experience to find your balance._ With that, he left again, going to his room.

Lyra followed a few minutes later, fully clothed, carrying the empty suit over her shoulder, finding Williams alone in the community room, reading a newspaper, which he put down when he saw Lyra, and asked with a worried voice: “Are you all right? Wolf just came in, threw me a look, grabbed your clothes and left again without a word.” Lyra sat down on the opposite side of the table, hanging the Ghost suit over the backrest and rubbed her face, not sure if she wanted to talk about it, and whether Williams would understand, so she answered: “I don’t know. It’s … complicated. Don’t worry that much about me.” That didn’t seem to convince the old engineer, as it didn’t even convince Lyra herself, and he recommended, still sounding very worried: “Don’t bury feelings like that inside, they’ll just eat you up. Take your time of you need, but remember that you’re not alone.” “I’m never alone”, she reminded him, “there’s always Wolf.” Williams picked up the newspaper again, understanding that she wouldn’t talk more about it now, but he still commented: “Wolf isn’t a good option to rely on in such things.” She just nodded, knowing how true that was, as Wolf did care, but had no idea how, and the words he had meant to help her get over the trauma had made it just worse.

“What’s in the news?”, she asked, trying to switch topic, and Williams answered with a humorous voice to underline the severity of the situation and how ineffectively the Dominion dealt with it: “Oh, just the usual, Zerg attacks on the outer colonies, slaughtering millions, and millions more fleeing into the core worlds, where there’s no space, so the refugee camps are getting more cramped by the day, while the largest part of the Dominion fleet circles Korhal for ‘protection’ of the citizens. There’s also a fleet trying to chase down Raynor for his latest hijinks at New Folsom, but I think that’s a pulicity stunt, not actually a serious chase. But most importantly”, he finished, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “the new Miss Kroprulu has been elected. To anyone’s surprise, she turned out to be human.”

 _Again? Damn, I need to convince more Protoss to vote._ , Khrillian said jokingly from the door, _Mine of course went to the High Executor. She might be too proud to wear a bikini, but damn, have you seen that woman slice through Zerg with her blades? I mean …_ It shouldn’t have been possible to wolf whistle for someone without a throat, but Khrillian managed an excellent mental equivalent while he walked over and unlocked his room, carrying a small box from the ship under his arm, probably filled with his personal effects, putting it in his room and then stepping back outside, making a gesture like he was looking at a non-existent watch and said: _It’s way past bedtime for the Cook already, maybe you two should try to get some shut-eye._

When the Protoss had closed his door again, Williams smiled at Lyra and asked: “He sure seems to have adapted perfectly to the human environment, doesn’t he?” Lyra nodded and added: “I never thought I’d see a Protoss make a joke.” Williams smiled, nodded and yawned, folding his newspaper and placing it on the table, looking at his own watch and concluding: “He’s right, though. It’s late.” Lyra stood up and took the last key off the table, checking which room belonged to her, unlocking it, noticing that one side was Williams, and on the other Wolf, a constellation she could feel very safe with, and entered her room after saying to Williams: “Good night.” The old man nodded and went to his room too, answering: “Sleep well, Lyra. Until tomorrow.” 


	12. Dr. Brown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got to apologize in advance for the next chapter using the same viewpoint as this one. There is no good reason for it this time, except that when I wrote this chapter, I didn't realize that the next one would have the same POV. In the previous draft, it was written from Wolf's viewpoint, but I decided to change it, mostly because it's social interaction, something the new version of Wolf is rather bad at. Or at least I don't want to reveal yet what's going through his mind in situations like these.
> 
> There's a bigger apology below the chapter for the lack of updates.

When Julia had woken up and left her room, the first thing she did was get a coffee from the machine in the corridor outside, then she joined Williams and Khrillian in the community room. The engineer had a cup of coffee in front of him as well, stirring it slowly, apparently still rather sleepy. _Good Morning_ , Khrillian said, reading the newspaper, his feet placed on the small table in the center of the room. Dr. Brown walked around him to get a seat on the sofa, and placed her cup on the small table, trying to set it down in a spot where the Protoss feet couldn’t knock it over, waiting for it to cool down a bit.

A few minutes later, Wolf stepped out of his room with a towel and shaving equipment in his hands and left for the bathrooms, whistling some tune Julia couldn’t identify. Five minutes later, he came back, freshly shaven and after placing the equipment back in his bunk, he placed himself in a corner of the community room, not greeting anyone or taking a seat, just standing there, watching them. Julia felt rather unnerved knowing those eyes were following her every move.

“Good Morning, Wolf.”, Williams said, stressing the syllables to point out that they were considered polite, “Where is Lyra?” “Still sleeping. She had some nightmares.”, Wolf answered succinctly. There was some looks exchanged between the engineer and the Spectre, and Julia understood that there was a bit more going on, but it was something private. Whatever Williams had read out of Wolf’s words, he seemed a bit saddened by it.

The explanation Julia had gotten from Williams yesterday had been a bit confusing, but if she had understood correctly, everything Wolf knew Lyra would know as well, so for information purposes, the group was complete, and she quickly drunk her coffee to get her brain up to speed for the following announcement. The hot liquid burned her tongue, but she was used to it. Wolf’s eyebrows rose for a moment as he saw her drink, probably in surprise. She could feel that he had classified her as of weak character, and was actually a bit happy that the Spectre had done so. She could feel the tension that existed between him and Williams.

“I got a lot of calls last night. Apparently, the board has approved your request.”, she began, recalling with dread the call from Rupert. It had been extremely late, and the man had been as loud as ever. “There’s going to be a task force called Haint, that will consist of you and Lyra, plus a bunch of scientists to keep your gear in top shape.” “Good.”, was Wolf’s monosyllabic answer. The man did not seem to care for others. Khrillian was a bit more considerate: _Something tells me you’re not happy about this decision._ Julia nodded and held her empty cup of coffee towards Wolf. “Could you get me another cup?” “Yes.”, the Spectre answered, grinned and did not move. Khrillian sighed, stood up and took the cup.

When he was back, Julia continued with her explanation: “Guess who’s going to be the leader of that task force? Me. I’m not meant for being in charge, I’m just a physicist! But apparently that fact that I can remember the phone numbers of higher-ups qualifies me for a promotion. Also, we’re going to be located in Scepsis station.”, she added, although that comment probably didn’t make much sense to the rest of them. Scepsis was a gigantic space station, one of the largest science complexes of Moebius. She’d have to deal with her fear of space on a daily basis up there. And in the end, she’d be the one blamed for what the task force did, not Wolf, who she guessed would be the rogue element in the team.

The Spectre looked thoughtful for a moment, then said: “I propose that Williams joins the team. He knows us, he knows the Ghost technology. He is a very experienced engineer.” That was a bit unexpected, given that he usually didn’t seem to care about other people. She would have expected that proposal from Lyra, not from the silent soldier. She tried to guess what advantaged he saw in this, but his constantly smiling face was a mask. The ironic smile he showed was not telling her anything about his real emotions. But overall, it seemed like a good idea, even if she couldn’t trust Wolf. She drank a sip of her coffee.

“I’d also like to get Khrillian on the team.”, Wolf continued quickly, not giving Julia time to completely think things through. “Why?”, she asked, confused by the change in topic. “Good equipment is all well and good. However, Lyra and I also need psionic training. Khrillian can provide that, as well as his technical expertise. It would most likely also be a more tolerant employment than any other offer Moebius could make.”, Wolf rattled down, Dr. Brown not sure if she had caught all of it. She glanced over to the Protoss, who looked at Wolf for a moment, then nodded and turned towards Julia, announcing: _With those two gentlemen as witnesses, I hereby apply for a position in the Haint task force in accordance to section C, paragraph 28 of my contract, which allows me, after the forceful disbanding of my old work group, to apply for any position of my choosing within Moebius. My resume can be found in the personnel database._

The current of words threw Julia even more off-balance than she had been before, and she just asked about the only thing that her tired mind had been able to filter out: “Forceful disbanding?” If Khrillian had a mouth, he probably would have smiled ironically. _That is the official pronunciation of ‘Zerg attack’._ She drank another sip of coffee and replayed the conversation in her mind again, finding another odd thing: “And stuff like that is in your contract?” _It is in everyone’s contracts. You probably haven’t studied it as extensively as I have._ , Khrillian said a bit smugly. Julia understood that at least. The Protoss had always been a sly one, bending the rules so far they were creaking, while not doing anything wrong on paper. That’s why he had studied his contract that extensively, to find where all the loopholes were. She couldn’t be sure if it had been just the lighting, but she believed that Wolf looked impressed for a moment.

Williams set his cup of coffee down with a definite movement. “Right. Stop it, both of you. I know what you’re doing, and it’s not —” He stopped talking and looked past Julia, and his angry expression softened immediately. When Dr. Brown turned around, she saw Lyra standing in the room, which gave her a bit of start. She hadn’t heard anything, not even the door opening. “How was your night?”, Williams asked, sounding concerned. “Wolf told you.”, Lyra snapped, clearly not wanting to talk about it. She walked around the sofa and sat down next to Julia, who felt small and plain compared to Lyra’s height.

When Lyra had made herself comfortable, there was a faint and muffled ringing sound. Everyone was looking around for a moment to determine where it was coming from, then Williams said what everyone was thinking: “I think that’s your phone, Doctor.” Julia sighed, picked up her coffee and stood up, complaining: “Looks like I’m not getting any relief anytime soon. Excuse me.” She stepped over Lyra’s long legs and went to her room, where the phone was indeed ringing loudly, the sound beginning to annoy Dr. Brown. It seemed every time she touched a phone, her life took a turn for the worse. But unless there was a Zerg attack, it was unlikely her current situation could get any more complicated.

She picked up the receiver, thinking for a moment how she should introduce herself. Her old job in the lab had been officially canceled with the formation of Haint. She went with “Dr. Julia Brown of task force Haint, how may I help you?”, feeling very silly referring to herself like that. The voice on the other end of the line was new — an older man, from the sound of it. “Ah. Good. I’m Prof. Dubben, administrator for the Scepsis complex. I was informed members of your task force have extracted technology from Indra station.”, the man asked, the unexpected topic catching Julia by surprise. She stammered: “Yes. Well, they weren’t part of the task force then, but yeah. They have a ship full of crates.” “Good. Good.”, the man wheezed, “I would urge you to bring them to Scepsis as soon as possible. The Siegmund group is eagerly awaiting those materials.” After a small pause, he added: “I congratulate you for your promotion to a task force leader, doctor. The Rubens wing has been prepared for you, and there is a man here waiting for your arrival. Good day.” The line went silent, the Professor not even waiting for her to confirm anything.

When the crates from Indra were needed that badly, it was best when they departed immediately, so Dr. Brown began to pack, putting the few things she kept with her into the small wheeled suitcase. She adapted, although not really gotten used to the mobile lifestyle one had to live as employee of Moebius, changing location after every project, if not more often. Halfway through, she remembered to tell the others to begin packing and stepped out of her room. The community room was deserted, not a trace to see of the others. There was a small note lying on the table, which she picked up and read. It was written in a neat, very evenly spaced handwriting that she guessed was Wolf’s. It just said: “We’ve gone to get breakfast. You might want some as well.”

She felt a bit insulted that no one had bothered to ask her if she wanted to come along, not even Khrillian. Neither had they waited for her to finish the call. She was a bit confused about Wolf’s second line, as her impression so far had not resulted in a belief that he might care at all about what others thought, except possibly Lyra. She threw the note back on the table and thought. Neither of them had a communicator, as Khrillian had made a habit out of having it either switched off or forgotten in the most unlikely locations. In addition, she couldn’t remember his number, so her only available option to tell them was to go down to the mess hall and then order them to stop eating. That was rude, and she somehow feared Wolf would then do something to her. Still, she had to tell them, so she made her way to the mess.

Most of the crew of the Cook seemed to have finished their breakfast, as the mess hall was rather deserted. Khrillian, Williams and the two Ghosts were sitting in a quiet corner, eating slowly. They seemed not talk much to each other. Julia hurried over and began to say: “I’ve got a call, we—” “Sit down.”, Wolf interrupted her, and something about the way he said it made it impossible not to follow his order. Julia dropped into a chair next to Lyra, and tried to begin her sentence anew: “Scepsis administration wants us to —” “Have a bagel.”, Wolf interrupted her again, placing the piece of bakery in front of her on the table. She looked at the bagel, which seemed to be very ordinary, but she couldn’t be sure, not with Wolf having given her that.

“We’re supposed to leave for Scepsis immediately.”, she complained, this time not interrupted by Wolf, who seemed to be focused on his cereals. “‘Immediately’ is a relative term.”, Lyra answered in his stead, “In the right branch of science, you can get time spans of several million years between two events that happened immediately one after the other. I am sure we can manage to find time for a breakfast.” That was a rather relaxed way of looking at it, but it meant they were getting a breakfast, so Julia didn’t argue about that, although she still complained: “You could have waited for me.” _In a most interesting leap of logic, Wolf convinced me not to._ , Khrillian chimed in, _As if we had waited, we would have indeed left immediately, and therefore now all would remain hungry. By giving you no choice but to come here, we ensure that you can have breakfast. But enough of that, do enjoy your —_

He looked at the spot where Wolf had placed the bagel, and Julia followed his gaze. The table in front of her was empty. The Dark Templar eyed over to Lyra, who was happily chewing, half a bagel in her hand. When Khrillian glared at her, she looked only slightly guilty, explaining with a full mouth: “She didn’t seem to want it.” The Protoss raised a single eyebrow, which apparently was enough — Lyra shrugged and placed the half bagel in front of Julia again, smiling guiltily.

“That was stealing, Lyra.”, Williams lectured her, concerned about the manners of his protege, “You could at least have asked.” _Nonono_ , Khrillian interjected jokingly, _It would have been stealing had she taken all of it. She only took half of it. That is known for government agents as_ _taxes_ _._ Julia picked up the half-eaten bakery and pointed it accusatory in Khrillian’s direction. “A fifty percent  bagel tax? What comes next, cereal censoring?” Wolf, the only one eating cereals, grinned, but didn’t comment. Williams smiled under his mustache and handed her a new bagel, clearly entering the spirit of things: “Here are the government subsidiaries for academic research, Doctor.” “I see that at least some part of the government knows what do to.”, she answered with an over-the-top demanding voice, placing the half-eaten bagel on Lyra’s dish with the words: “You can have that back.”

While she spread some butter on her bagel, Williams, who was buttering a scone for himself, began a new topic: “Last night, I checked something about our ship. If it were completely secret, we would have run into trouble at Kenn’s, because they actually check whether the ship is registered. So I took the time to actually check the registry, and found it as a civilian vessel. The fun part is, though, that the ships are not uniformly named. There’s only the Nonexistent XI, no others.” “That makes sense.”, Lyra answered with full mouth, “I’d get suspicious if there’d be twelve of them.” Williams nodded and continued: “For fun, I decided to check a few other names that no one would name their ships, and I think I found five of them. They really went overboard. There’s a Figment of Imagination III, a Mid-Air Collision XII, the Vacant IV …” “Indestructible II”, Julia suggested, getting the hang of it. Williams looked a bit surprised. “I haven’t actually thought of that.”, he admitted. “Well, if I were to name my ship as unbelievable as possible, that’s what I would go for”, Julia said, “because it’d leave everyone wondering what the hell happened to the number one.”

“I’d go for Junk Heap VII”, Lyra chimed in. _Not Registered XIV_ , Khrillian recommended, while Wolf completed the list with: “Scrapyard of Insufferable Arrogance.” Williams held his hands up, and tried to get the word again: “I see you all got more ideas than me. Well, that’s what I found. The owners have equally unbelievable names, by the way. Ours is registered for a certain William Rubin. For the others, there’s Marcus Thomas Suit, Dr. Eva Cuation, the siblings Rex and Gloria Mundi …” Khrillian tapped his chin for a moment, then admitted: _I don’t think I get that second one._ “It’s the initials.”, Lyra explained, “M. T. Suit.” _Ah. I see. It is a shame we Protoss never developed the art of punning._

Julia bit off her bagel, then asked after swallowing: “How would Protoss be able to pun? That telepathy of yours seems pretty unambiguous.” _That is the problem, yes._ , Khrillian admitted a bit sad, _By saying the concept directly, we do not leave room for humorous misunderstandings. And Khalani, the language we have, is not … proper for punning. It harks back to the time before the Xel’Naga, but it is still in use today, for formal and sacred occasions, where one sends the word, not the concept. But a pun would be sacrilege. When I’d make a double entendre out of En Taro Tassadar, they’d probably lynch me._ Julia nodded, having seen that side of Khrillian before. By Protoss standards, he was incredibly relaxed and informal. Usually, the large aliens were extremely stiff in their behavior and too focused on rank and caste to ever slack off, even among friends.

Her message that they should hurry a bit seemed to have been received, though. They spent the rest of the breakfast in busy silence, everyone trying to fill their bellies quickly. Well, except for Khrillian, who of course couldn’t have eaten any of that. He still always went with his human colleagues to the mess hall when it was mealtime. Julia guessed it was to use the chance to socialize. When she finished her second bagel, the rest of the group seemed to be done as well, and it was Williams who declared the breakfast as over: “Well, let’s go and pack our stuff. Scepsis station is waiting.”

On their way back, Wolf suddenly left the group at one junction, without any comment. “What?”, Dr. Brown asked after him, but it was Lyra who answered: “He’s going ahead to power up the ship and inform the Captain that we’re leaving. He hasn’t used much stuff, so I can pack for him.” That made sense, but it still felt weird that he left and let someone else do the explanations for him. Wolf did not seem to care for any social conventions, just did what he thought was most efficient. Julia had no idea how she would manage to lead a task force with someone like him in there. It seemed about as possible as herding cats. But at least Lyra seemed to know about politeness, and if Dr. Brown had understood William’s explanation correctly, would be able to keep back Wolf in the worst cases.

While she had a bit of a head-start in packing, the others of course had spent less time here, and generally seemed to carry less, so when she was done and pulled her wheeled suitcase out of her room, the others were already waiting in the community room. Khrillian had a cardboard box under his arm, and his staff somehow affixed to his back, Lyra carried a large, military-style backpack, which meant it had a surprisingly large volume, while also being extremely uncomfortable to carry. Williams seemed unburdened, his effects probably also in the backpack. Julia thought him a bit uncaring for making Lyra carry the heavy thing, but she quickly revised that judgment when she saw the nonverbal communication between the two as they set off. It seemed like Williams had offered to carry the pack, but Lyra had denied. In some ways, the pair reminded Dr. Brown of father and daughter. While there was no biological relation between the two, the old engineer seemed to have developed a protective instinct for the Ghost in the years he had cared for her.

Wolf was indeed waiting by the ship, leaning a bit nonchalantly against the wing of the Quantradyne. When he saw the group, he walked towards them, spinning some kind of metal cylinder on his index finger. His control of the quickly rotating object was impressive, especially in light of it spinning around an inherently unstable axis. He stopped in front of Khrillian and held the cylinder in his outstretched hand. Julia could see it more clearly now, a rather blank metal tube half as long as her lower arm, with about the same interior diameter, a green crystal inlay on the surface, and some padding inside. It was not perfectly round, the side with the crystal was thicker and had some kind of opening on one end.

Julia realized what it was when Wolf asked Khrillian: “Miss this?” The object very much looked like a very crude form of a Protoss wrist blade, which made her realize for the first time that Khrillian wasn’t wearing any. He always carried that staff of his, but she had never seen him with a Warp Blade. _What? No._ , Khrillian denied, _That’s far too tight for my arms. It’s a failed experiment. We tried to downscale a Warp Blade to human size. Works well on paper, but humans dont have —_ His voice trailed away. Wolf had taken the thing, slipped it on his arm, pointed it skyward and then activated the blade. It didn’t look very impressive, a nearly invisible green flickering of the air in a pointy triangle starting on his wrist, the tip more than a meter away. _Impressive._ , Khrillian commented, and continued walking towards the ship.

Wolf removed the thing from his arm again and threw it over to Lyra, who caught it expertly and fitted it onto her own wrist. She stretched her hand away from her body and looked a bit cross-eyed for a moment. Julia expected the blade to look different for her, although she wasn’t sure how, but pale green wouldn’t fit to Lyra at all. If the blade had been bright pink, Dr. Brown would have burst of laughter. Instead, nothing seemed to happen. After a second of looking puzzled, Lyra threw the bracer back, seemingly disappointed. Wolf caught it, rolled up his left sleeve, attached the bracer to his arm and let the sleeve fall over it again. His black shirt concealed the deadly weapon, and Julia wouldn’t envy anyone who came too close to Wolf’s left hand now. But then again, the Spectre always radiated an aura that told your gut that if he wanted you dead, you were dead.

Again, Wolf went somewhere else without saying a word, although in this case it was understandable, as he was the one piloting the ship. Neither Lyra nor Williams joined him, interestingly, despite the Quantradyne cockpit having a co-pilot seat. Instead, they both sat down on the benches in the extremely crammed cargo compartment, which was filled with crates arranged in rather neat stacks, probably the haul from Indra station. While Julia found a spot to place her suitcase, Lyra strapped herself into the safety belts with the words: “Welcome aboard the Nonexistent XI. The flight commences in a few minutes. Please go to your seats and secure yourself against turbulence. Should anyone mistake me for a stewardess, I will distribute the appropriate amount of fist to the face shortly.”

Julia sat down gingerly on the rather uncomfortable looking bench and tried to pull out the safety belts, but they were either stuck or designed for people considerably stronger than her. While the motors of the ship began to hum louder as Wolf initiated liftoff, she asked: “Is the belt really necessary?” Lyra, pulling her long hair out behind her back and binding it into a ponytail, answered: “Not really, no. We shouldn’t have any need for tight maneuvers. Wolf hasn’t often flown max load before though, so he doesn’t know how the ship handles now.”

After a minute of silence as the rear hatch was closing, Lyra asked thoughtfully: “You’re responsible for our equipment now, aren’t you? I think I have your first task already. Look in the compartment above you.” Dr. Brown tilted her head upwards, for the first time noticing the closed overhead compartments. Standing up, she pulled on the handle at the same time as Wolf accelerated, and Julia stumbled backwards a bit, jerking open the cover. Something long and white shot out, aimed at her face, and she hopped sideways, shrieking, loosing her balance on the shifting floor and landing full-length on the hard metal grating. The other chuckled a bit over her clumsiness, but Williams quickly helped her up.

Julia looked back at the thing that had nearly killed her. It stuck point-first in one of the cardboard boxes, still quivering slightly. It was bone-white, nearly as long as her arm and had some dark spots that looked very much like blood spots to her right now. “What the hell is that?”, she asked, carefully pulling the thing out of the box and gingerly touching the side of the blade. When she pulled her fingers back, there was a small drop of blood on the fingertips. “Extremely sharp nano-serration along the cutting edge.”, Lyra explained, sounding enthusiastic, “But as long as you grab it by the blunt end, you should be fine.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”, Julia noted, and Lyra seemed genuinely sorry when she answered: “My bad. It’s a Hydralisk scythe. I’m using it as melee weapon.” That was a very scary thought. Up til now, Lyra had seemed rather harmless and friendly. Now Dr. Brown couldn’t dispel the mental image of the Ghost wading through a sea of blood with that blade in her hand. Williams did not help when he said in a rather happy tone: “You should’ve seen how she got that. When a Zergling knocked her army knife out of her fingers, she just walked over to the next Hydralisk and pulled this off it.” “It wasn’t quite that simple.”, Lyra corrected, and rolled out more gory details, “It didn’t want to let go, so I had to take the other one and ram it up its gut. Then it was as docile as a lamb. And dead, unfortunately.”

Julia carefully turned the thing around in her fingers, snarkily answering: “Well, if my first task for you was to get scared shitless, you succeeded.” Lyra laughed, a loud and melodic laugh, much nicer on the ears than Julia’s own. She would have liked to feel angry about Lyra for laughing about her, but the problem was that Lyra’s laugh had the right harmonics that said that while she found the words hilarious, she wasn’t dismissing the seriousness of the situation. “No, that was just an unwanted bonus.”, she answered, “What I want you to think about is how I can carry that thing into battle.”

That was a strange, if not that difficult request. But Julia had her concerns about the usefulness of the weapon. “Bone is living material”, she began her explanation, “that dies after being separated from the body. This blade is pretty brittle already, I’m not sure if it will survive a battle.” “If it breaks, I know where to get a new one.”, Lyra said, her tone unconcerned. She was talking about getting into a fight with the xenomorphs in the same way other people would talk about going down to the supermarket to get a soda.

“Well, that still limits options a bit. I would have suggested magnetic fixture, but that requires a manipulation of the blade. Every time you’d get a new one, you’d have to carry it to the lab wing for us to tamper with.”, Julia began to brain-storm. A shudder of the floor reminded her that she was still standing in a moving spaceship, holding an extremely sharp and dangerous object. She decided to postpone that topic until she was in a safe location. Right now, she was just asking for another accident, so she sealed the blade in the compartment again and sat down, concluding: “I’ll think about something, once I have a lab and some people to bounce ideas off.” “That’s all right.”, Lyra reassured her, “I just wanted you to know about that.”

They fell silent as Wolf initiated the Warp jump, which made Julia wonder for a moment how he knew Scepsis’ coordinates, but she guessed that it was no use to try and ask. He’d just smile and deflect the question. Most likely, the ship had an up-to-date navigation system, and Scepsis was hardly a secret facility, so it would show up on his maps.

Lyra was thoughtful for a while, then suddenly turned to Khrillian and asked: “How did the Dark Templar defeat the Cerebrates?” That was not her usual style of questioning, and came completely out of the blue, so that even the Protoss needed a moment to rethink. _I believe you know the usual answer._ , he began, apparently not feeling that happy to talk about it, _The energies we wield are similar to those of the Zerg. That made them vulnerable to our attacks, and the Cerebrates we struck down could not be resurrected._

“But … that doesn’t work.”, Lyra objected, “Your minds are not like the Zerg. Zerg minds are fluid, changing, growing, familiar. Your mind is like Wolf’s. Made out of blocks, rigid, alien, unchanging. You can’t wield those energies.” Given the time Khrillian pondered about that, Lyra’s ability to read minds like that was not common. He asked, half in jest: _So I have a mind like a Terran?_ Lyra shook her head, trying again: “Your mind is like a square. Wolf is like a rectangle. I think he’s the strange one, not you. But Zerg are circles. You can’t be circles and squares at the same time.” She was obviously struggling for a good explanation of telepathy in a language that had never been intended for it. In addition, her way of perceiving minds as shapes seemed to cause some confusion for Khrillian. Julia guessed that it was a bit like autism, if the other way around. A normal telepath saw only the individual thoughts, not a shape as a whole, while Lyra could.

But the Protoss seemed to have understood now. He chuckled, or at least sent out an emotion that meant the same, and said a bit melodramatic: _And thus our great secret is uncovered by a Terran, a mere child compared to us._ Returning to his normal voice, he explained: _The powers we wield are not our own. What we Dark Templar have mastered is, with the power of the Void, to manipulate the powers of others._ “Pretty lame power source.”, Wolf commented over intercom, “Void is nothing, after all.” _Would you like me to make a point by making a hole into your ship?_ , Khrillian responded, the metal door of the cockpit of course not blocking his telepathy, _You’ll see that a nothing in the right place is worth more than anything._ The Spectre didn’t answer to that, but the Templar didn’t seem to expect an answer.

Turning to Lyra again, Khrillian continued his explanation with an example: _Take for example the Warp Blade. What is the difference between our blades and those of the Khalai?_ Lyra looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered, embarrassed: “You’re going to hit me when I say length? Because I don’t know.” Again, Khrillian chuckled, extended his hand, and patted Lyra on the head. _Well, I’m here to teach you. Basic rule: The longer the blade, the more energy you need to sustain it. Now you’d be right to protest that this doesn’t make sense. After all, the Khala makes the High Templar stronger, and yet their small wrist blades are downright cute compared to our long swords._ His smugness about this advantage over his golden brethren was not very subtle. Neither was Wolf’s impatience as he again commented over the intercom: “It uses a different energy configuration. Now get to the point.” _Unless Mister Smartypants knows the correct answer, I suggest you concentrate on flying this brick._ , Khrillian answered, clearly annoyed.

_Now, where were we?_ , he asked, a bit redundantly, and continued, _The difference is that while a Khalai Protoss uses his own will to give the blade power, we Nerazim just give it form. We let the blade take its power from whatever we hit. This way, it is always stronger than what it is cutting through. Thus, it cannot be blocked, parried or disrupted. Any strike against the blade is a strike against yourself. As far as weapons go, it’s perfect. And our other powers are similar. Instead of draining our own power, we take it from our enemies and wield it against them. That is the answer to your question: Our minds do not need to be like the Zerg to wield their powers, as we have something better, the power to wield their power._ After a minute of thoughtful silence, he added: _Although of course there are some similarities between the Zerg psionics and the Nerazim, as we both rather worm our way around the defenses, instead of meeting them head-on. Only the Khalai, with their overabundance of psionic strength can do that._

Julia would have liked to continue listening, but Wolf called over intercom: “Dr. Brown to the cockpit. We need your authentication.” That probably meant they were close to Scepsis. Julia stood up slowly, careful about her balance, despite the floor not moving much at the moment. As she walked towards the door, she felt a moment of embarrassment coming, as she had no idea how to open the cockpit door and couldn’t see a handle. Before she had to admit her ignorance, the door slid open, probably because Wolf had pressed a button on his side.

Dr. Brown stepped through the door frame, and saw the outside for the first time on the trip. It was breathtaking, as Scepsis station was directly in front of them, filling the entire cockpit window with a vista that Julia had never seen before. The station design was pretty unusual, not the standard collection of flat blocks, but a construction made out of cylindrical sections connected by three dimensional cross pieces, like some kind of children’s construction set. It took her a moment to realize the sheer size of the whole thing. The small black dots that decorated the surface of the cylinders were windows, which meant that each of the sections was larger than any building she’d been in. The solar panels that strutted from the station like they were glued on had to cover more than a square kilometer overall. And the whole complex, all those building-sized cylinders, they were all meant to be used for the purpose of science.

In her moment of awe, Julia didn’t see the headset Wolf was holding towards her until he poked it into her belly, which made her remember the purpose for which she had come here. She took the thing and, following Wolf’s gestured order, sat down on the co-pilot seat. As she put the rather blocky speaker over her ear, she could hear the station hail them: “This is Skłodowska wing Tower. Please enter a ready loop until your authorization is cleared.” This message seemed to be directed at the pilot, and Dr. Brown wasn’t sure whether she should relay it, but Wolf probably knew already, given how experienced he seemed with the ship.

So she decided to answer to the second part of the message: “This is Dr. Julia Brown, of task fore Haint, aboard the … Nonexistent XI. I’ve been told that a wing has been prepared for Haint in your station.” Tower seemed busy for a moment, then answered: “We read you, Dr. Brown. According to our files, you also transport material for the Siegmund group. Do you confirm?” “Yes, that’s right. The material extracted from Indra station.”, she answered, not sure if she was doing what Wolf expected of her. He could have told them all that as well. Tower hailed again after a short pause: “We still need identification, Doctor. And please tell your pilot to halt the approach until we’ve given an all-clear.” Julia looked over to Wolf a bit panicked, realizing that he hadn’t reacted to the order to fly in a loop. Before she could open her mouth, he rapped two times against the cockpit controls, pointing at a small slot. When Dr. Brown didn’t react immediately, he added: “Your ID card.” Guessing that the slot would read the card and send the ID as identification signal, she quickly retrieved the thing from her wallet and pushed it into the slot, praying under her breath. She’d made some bad experienced with machines accepting cards.

Half a minute later, Tower answered: “Seems legit, Dr. Brown. Assigning your approach vector. There’ll be a reception waiting for you. Oh, and please tell your pilot that if I had guns to control, he would have gotten sniped out of the sky two minutes ago. When I say ready loop, I mean ready loop.” Julia was about to do so, but Wolf’s knowing smile made the words die in her throat. Of course he’d known, it was just that he somehow seemed to ignore such rules. Now, however, he seemed to have let go of the controls and let the station pilot the ship during approach. He pressed a button next to the card slot and handed Dr. Brown her ID card back, not commenting. She wanted to give the man a good earful of complains, but she saw that it would be wasted breath. Grumbling, she snatched the ID card from his fingers and went back to the cargo hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As is obvious, I quite thoroughly failed my promise of updating every Monday. I even failed NaNoWriMo. For that I have to blame my lack of discipline as well as two very good games coming out late November. The first is X-COM: Enemy Within, which is more precisely an add-on, not a full game. But it's a good add-on, and worth the money. If you like Sci-Fi or round-based games, check it out. The game's difficulty curve is addicting.  
> The second game was Assassin's Creed IV. It's good, and certainly a nice addition to the series. I wouldn't recommend it unconditionally like X-COM, though. It's the fourth (or sixth, or seventh, depending on how you count) game in the series, and there's a lot of continuity floating around. The game's story is enjoyable, but it's not a good point to start, because the moral ambiguity has been driven so far that you might not realize that the Templars are supposed to be the bad guys. Instead, pick up Assassin's Creed Liberation HD, which is somewhat cheaper, has a gameplay just as good, no confusing out-of-animus plot and, something which one would not think possible, a competent, properly dressed female main character!  
> Now you know what distracted me during the last weeks of November and the start of December. I actually wrote nearly two chapters more since then, but I told myself that I shouldn't put up stuff while I'm not writing. Which is why this chapter has been lying around on my computer for months. But I decided that once in my life, I should finish stuff, even if it's just a fanfic. So I sat down in front of my keyboard again and stared at what I've written already, thinking about what would happen next. I've written a few more pages by now, but I'm not sure if I'll manage to pick up the pace again.  
> Anyway, it's monday, and there's an update! Enjoy!
> 
> PS: I'm aware that Khrillian's italics might be hard to read. Now you know why I'm not doing it like that in the pdf.


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